Season of Change
by Iolo
Summary: Remember this one, Old Timers? That's right, I've managed to lure Mat & Co. back into action. Let the games commence...R&R if you're feeling adventurous.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note (updated 17/10/2011):**

This is an _old _story; my first fanfic, in fact. It's a bit creaky, a tad rusty, and sometimes uses a cane to get around, but you know what? I love it. I love it because it taught me how _not _to write (and the earlier chapters bear testament to just how green I was back then). So if you fancy a good (as in long) read in the company of Mat, Pips, a deadly disease, lots of faux-18th century parlance, featherings of fluff, and a good old dollop of OC, _Season of Change_ is your pal! And it does get better later on. Honest.

You never know - I might just get around to finishing it some day ;)

**Disclaimer** - I disclaim everything.

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

The stippled light pierced her eyes as it splintered through the leaves. Burred branches whipped and tore at her legs as she ran, ankles twisting in an attempt to keep her footing on the gnarled and knotted forest floor. Her breath hitched within her, throat rasping as she frantically strove to suck life into her laboured lungs. A thorn slashed at her cheek, whipping a razor fine tear on her pallid skin. Her tears seeped into the sliced flesh, causing a flash of pain that the searing in her breast and limbs instantly eclipsed.

Though the blur of watering eyes, she could see the pall of heavy smoke that hung over the distant village.

Through the reedy whistle of the keening wind, she could hear a steady thrum echoing though the painfully bright sky.

Through the numbing pain, she could feel the keen edge of terror burrowing within her.

But on she ran though the sun-dappled forest, towards the unnatural thunder and ominous black haze.

Towards the fear.

* * *

She burst into the scene from a nightmare. Bodies lay scattered in the village clearing. Some lay crumpled in awkward positions, as though cast aside by a raging child in the midst of a tantrum. Others lay neatly arranged on the ground, the limp fingers of every one precisely placed so each touched the hand of the next. She took in the scene with bewildered detachment.

Not this. She had never expected anything like this.

She began to move through the square, weaving between the dead on bruised and swollen feet.

The houses and small buildings she passed were blackened and charred. In places where she recalled structures, there were now none, as though they had simply ceased to exist.

The slicks of ebony ash she wandered past sometimes yielded familiar shapes; a staying comb, a knife, a finger.

Her unblinking gaze drifted over all these things without flinching.

A sound was ringing in her ears. She inclined her head so as to dislodge the irritating noise, but it failed to abandon her. She frowned. Why didn't it just leave her alone?

She tried to stilt her breathing so as not to inhale the fetid atmosphere, heavy with the stench of burning decay, but her starved lungs could not renounce the air, however vile it had become.

She began to gag, and her stomach took to heaving as she walked further into the town.

She no longer knew where she was going. It was becoming apparent to her listing thoughts that there was no one to find here. There was nothing here but death and the dead.

The keening sound was getting louder. She frowned at its intrusion.

She stopped outside a building that looked achingly familiar. Three blackened shapes lay wizened on the ground before the small structure. How could such small, pathetic remains have once been people?

She pondered this absently as she surveyed the sad tableau, until something caught her eye. A doll, with green eyes and red hair, features crudely made yet oddly endearing.

It snagged at her thoughts, caught like a barbed hook, tore the memory to her.

_Menna_

Such a pretty name. A pretty doll for a pretty little girl with red hair and green eyes. . . .

_She caught her lip as she watched the girl enfold the doll in her round arms, eyes bright with excitement._

_'Like me,' the child breathed, her small voice full of wonder._

_'Yes my little one, like you.'_

_She had smiled at the girl before clasping her in her arms, planting a kiss on her snub nose._

_'My little Menna. . . . .'_

The doll was in her hands, small and broken. A black smudge marred its tiny face.

She barely felt the jar of impact as she dropped to her knees in the dust, doll clasped to her breasts and sobs threatening to rack her ravaged frame.

The world seemed to grasp for her, reality flooded her senses with the horror of what she had seen.

Stumbling to her feet, she grabbed the nearest wall to support her in her sickness.

Once the nausea had subsided, she drew a shuddering breath and straightened.

The world performed a lazy spin and she clutched her stomach once more, ears ringing. Nothing happened.

She stood more steadily this time, though her head felt stuffed with wool. The incessant whining sound had dimmed, but not entirely ceased.

With a lurching sensation, the sound finally coalesced into a noise she comprehended.

Screaming.

She jammed her fingers into her mouth to quell the sound, but the noise went on unabated. Not her, then.

Who? The sound had haunted her since she entered what was left of her village. Who was venting that unending wail?

She wandered into the nearest alleyway.

Terror was a knot in the base of her skull and a thorn in her gut. She skirted past debris, flinching at the scratch and groan of crumbling masonry.

The sound grew louder. It resonated with agony.

She increased her pace, desperate to find another alive.

The sound led her to an open flight of stairs; the door had been blasted from hinges that were now warped into lethally jagged shapes.

The stairs groaned and shuddered beneath her. Dust and ash swayed into the air as she disturbed the steps. They spun and floated before her, glistening in the muted sunlight that stole between the cracks of the building. She followed their lead, drifting up the steps on feet that now oozed blood from raw blisters.

The door at the top of the stairs was wan but heavy looking. She idly wondered if she had the strength to heft it open. As if in answer, her pale hand floated before her and splayed on the door, pushed at it tentatively.

Her breath caught. A pulsing heartbeat was the only sound that echoed in her ears.

The screaming had stopped.

She peered through the crack in the door. There was no light in the room. The window appeared to have been blackened somehow.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she opened the door to shadow.

As her vision adjusted she realised her eyes could make out dim shapes.

An overturned chair.

A table listing on it's three legs.

A figure.

Holding a hand before her, she walked further into the room.

'Hello?'

The word was barely a rasp from her scorched throat.

'Hello?'

A little stronger this time.

The figure volunteered nothing. Was this the one who had made that sound? There did not appear to be anyone else in the room.

She was about to speak once more when the figure shifted. She could feel her skin prickle, as though in response to a gaze from living eyes again.

She could see brightness in the figure's eyes, and a gleam on its face.

Tears. Whoever it was had been crying as she had. She felt a spasm of guilt at feeling such relief at another's sorrow.

Walking towards the figure proved more difficult than she thought. Her feet simply refused to move. She gave her silent companion an effacing smile, causing tiny fissures in her lips to gape and bleed.

She could see a glint in the half-light; the figure was grinning at her, full lips peeled back to reveal a pale gleam of teeth.

Her smile faltered. Something felt terribly wrong.

Stammering, she backed away from the figure, eye's wide between splayed fingers. The flesh on her arm tautened and mottled into gooseflesh, the fine hair standing keenly away from the pallid skin.

Her hand reached for the half-sword at her belt, the smooth hilt a solace to her fevered palm.

Her back encountered the doorframe, and she let out a sharp vowel of terror, spiking the air with its voracity.

The figure's smile seemed to intensify at the sound. It began to move towards her, undaunted by the weapon. Motes of infitisimal particles swirled around its shaded form. Her heels encountered to edge of the top step, and she staggered there, hands flailing the air for purchase.

None came.

She sensed the dizzying drop of empty space behind her, but barely felt the impact of the first connection with the hard wooden tiers.

She gave herself to the fall, better that than to the creature that now gazed at her from the top of the stairs, its eyes almost livid with fascination.

When the movement stopped, she realised with utter consternation that she was alive.

The ground had begun to quake beneath her. Stones and dust quivered then leapt from the floor beneath her cheek.

She lolled her unbearably heavy head, rolled her eyes to see if the figure was still there.

It had stayed at the top of the stairs. Its arms were now raised, and there was an expression of rapture on its face.

The rumbling intensified, and she felt the terrible certainty, became aware of the implacable force that surged towards them.

Closing her eyes against the vision on the stairs, she curled herself as small as possible.

Thoughts of her beloved home and family, her precious sister, came unbidden to her mind. An undulating keen came from between her clenched teeth.

_I am sorry, Menna. . . ._

The black, then nothingness.


	2. Chapter One

(A/N - You're going to read it? Gosh, thanks awfully. If you like it, you can leave a nice little review. If not, leave a little review anyway, and tell me why. I know this story has no relation to any events in the books, but my brain can only cope with so much, so please excuse my whimsical little tale its horrible bouts of inaccuracy.)

*Disclaimer* - Mr Jordan, I realise I am going totally against your wishes by using an established character in a fan fiction piece. I'm sorry, please don't sue. I'm not gaining any profit from this, and feel terribly guilty about the whole debacle. Thanks.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

Mat ran a gloved hand over his slick face. Flinging the rain from leather clad fingers, he grimaced in distaste. Was there no end to this miserable, grizzling rain? Squinting balefully at the sky yielded only an eyeful of an unrelenting expanse of grey cloud, and a fat splash of rain on the tip of his nose. Muttering darkly to himself, Mat tugged his broad rimmed hat lower, covering his scowl. He was indeed in dour spirits. Pips whickered and snorted, his sides bellowing with stout disapproval. Mat reached and patted the roan's neck absently, and Pips blunt, be-dripping nose came into view as he raised his head to cast a doleful eye at his rider. Mat hitched his shoulders in mute sympathy, and continued to study the camp.

It was quiet, even for a miserable day such as this. The only movement that caught his eye was the occasional listless flit of a sodden banner. The still silence was, however, regularly punctuated by barks of coughing, or a low moan. Mat's scowl deepened.

_Grown men, all but crying for their bloody mothers._

The fact that the uncharitable thought stemmed from concern rather than disdain irritated him all the more.

A long, plaintive shudder rippled through Pips' frame. Mat ignored his mount's plea. He could do with a drying off and something warm in his belly as much as his horse, although spiced wine would be preferable to Pips' daily ration of warm mash.

Another bout of coughing reached his ear, harsh and painful sounding. Mat shifted in his saddle, wincing at the uncomfortably numb sensation in his seat. How many men now? Fifty? A hundred?

No fatalities though. In fact, the first casualties of the insipid sickness were recuperating well, albeit slowly, in the scant comfort of the tent rather ostentatiously known as 'the infirmary'. But the sickness was raging through his men nonetheless, seemingly not content until it had laid low his entire band. _Including myself, if I don't get out of this bloody rain._

It was all Per's fault he was here, of course. Whenever he ended up in ridiculous situations like this, you could bet it was as a result of Per's suggestions.

Mat could see the healer's pinched, white face now, eyebrows drawn in concern. 'It would really raise their spirits My Lord.' Despite the cajoling tone, there was determination in that soft voice. 'Fourteen more men are in the green tent.'

'Infirmary', Mat interjected. It was childish, no doubt, but the man simply would not let the matter drop.

'Infirmary,' Per amended, 'and morale is very low.' Per paused dramatically, eyes shifting with nervous vigour 'There is talk' he proceeded in a ridiculously hushed voice 'that this is the work of.' Per paused again, nervously wetting his lips, '...higher powers.'

'Per', it had taken a goodly amount of effort to keep his voice below bellowing level 'It is nothing more than a bad chill. It is to be expected if they insist on carousing in that rat-infested town in this...' He threw a disgusted look at the growing puddle encroaching through his tent opening '...weather.'

Not that a little bad weather carousing wasn't an integral part of the majority of Mat's evenings, but that really was beside the point.

'My Lord,' Per continued in that insufferably affable tone 'this will get worse before it gets better. My healing knowledge can only stretch so far.' Per spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness 'I am a firm believer that a strong mind encourages a strong recovery. You are their emblem of strength.'

Mat, his head now cradled in his hands, gave a muffled groan.

'If they see you undaunted by this .setback,' Per persisted 'then it will surely give them the encouragement needed to make a swift recovery.'

Mat rubbed his eyes wearily; he would not give in. _Emblem of strength! They probably wouldn't recognise me if walked through that bloody green tent right now._

The thought caused the dawning realisation that his presence had been more than a little scarce lately. In fact, he had barely left the comfort of his tent since they arrived in this miserable place.

Blood and bloody ashes, Per was beginning to make sense. Mat hated it when that happened. Mat glanced up at the healer's expectant face.

'All right, all right', he yielded 'what do you want me to do? Sit majestically on my trusty steed, heroically surveying my band of loyal men?'

Evidently, Per had missed the inherent sarcasm in his tone, why is why Mat now found himself astride Pips above the camp of the beleaguered Band of the Red Hand, cold, wet, and thoroughly irritated. It had not been entirely fruitless, however. He had noted about a dozen of his men in all, shambling from tent to tent with horse blankets clutched around them. Several had laboriously raised their hands in salute upon espying him, unmistakable in his broad hat with ashandarei in hand, and one fellow even managed a feeble cheer, which changed abruptly into a rather nasty coughing fit. Still, Mat mused, it hadn't been a total waste if time. Not quite anyway. Satisfied he has subjected himself to the mercy of his ruthless healer for long enough, Mat nudged Pip's into a walk, and headed back to his tent.

* * *

Mat pulled the tent tie taut, closing his view from the dismal dusk outside. Relieved of his sodden garments, and in a considerably lighter mood, he turned back to the task at hand. After much deliberation over the array of bottles before him, Mat finally grasped the carafe bearing the Tairen Sigil. He was saving it for an occasion that merited its worth, but deemed deserving of an extravagance after the trials of the day. Unstopping the wax plug with the aid of a candle flame and a willing knife-tip, Mat poured the crimson liquid into a cup. Easing his weary frame onto a mound of scattered cushions, he watched the play of candle light on the liquids sleek surface and it swirled. Mat lifted the cup to his lips, and had a tantalising waft of the fragrant liquid before he heard an urgent scratching at the tent opening.

'What?' he all but barked, irritated by the interruption.

Per's anxious face came into view, the flitting light tracing ethereal shadows on his wide eyes and pale skin.

'My Lord', the words were strained with urgency 'I think it's time to call on a healer.'


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

Dismounting in the town's trade quarter, Mat surveyed the surrounding buildings. His eyes narrowed as he searched for the distinctive emblem that signified a healer's den. Cal moved awkwardly beside him. Mat could sympathise with the man's weary step. The pair had ridden perilously hard in the treacherous weather, and both were thoroughly mud splattered and exhausted. They stood, eyes peering into the dim light for what they sought as their mounts heaved plumes of white vapour into the chill, night air with each laboured breath.

'Do you see anything?' Mat's voice sounded hoarse and too loud in the silence.

Cal slowly shook his head as he scanned the surroundings.

'Nothing' he muttered, catching his lip with his teeth 'We are in the right place, right?'

'Per said that the healers are usually in this type of area.' Mat worked at a kink in his neck, trying to knead the weariness and anxiety from the tense muscles. 'Just keep looking.'

It soon became clear that a more widespread exploration was necessary. After tethering the horses, both men set off on their search.

The buildings were all nondescript, and somewhat wan looking in their disrepair. Mat walked both sides of the narrow street, pressing his nose to the glass of each window in an effort to spy any clues that a healer practiced there. Unsuccessful, he continued his search into the narrowing street. The houses became smaller and more decrepit the deeper he moved, sagging and looming in the darkness of the fading street, which was now more of an alley than a main walkway. Dense globes of water dropped ponderously from the sloping rafters of the frail houses, occasionally causing a sparsely placed torch to hiss and spit.

The cobbles were treacherously slick, and Mat briefly lost his footing on the greasy stones, ungainly righting himself in short time to avoid an undignified sprawl. He cursed, more loudly than he intended, then paused as a movement above him snagged his gaze

Glancing at the upper window of the nearest building, he caught sight of a slight figure at the window, obscured by a filmy hanging. The meagre light the figure appeared to be holding gave a startled flinch and was quickly extinguished before the hanging hitched back to cover his view of the beholder.

_Probably had a bloody good chuckle at me as well_ Mat thought testily, imagining the sight he must have made with flailing arms, desperately trying to avoid falling on his rump.

Mat brushed irritably at his jacket, straightened his hat, and was in the process of righting his ever-present necktie when he noticed a familiar symbol.

Approaching the window, he reached his hand to sweep a film of grime from the glass, revealing a dusty sign with the embossed emblem he was searching for; scales with a stylised leaf and a dagger balanced on opposing sides.

Mat whistled a relieved sigh through his teeth, and glanced back at the upper window. His mysterious watcher had not reappeared. Still, he reasoned, if the occupant was already awake, they wouldn't object to a little business, particularly in a downtrodden little place like this.

The large door was less solid that it appeared. Mat's first less than tentative knock shook slivers of mouldering wood from its surface. Brushing the irksome splinters from his hand, he waited. As he was considering further damage to the world-weary door, a series of sounds reached his ear; a muttered curse, stumbling footsteps, the clatter of stairs, a yelp of surprise and another curse, this time loud and harsh enough to make even Mat wince.

After a crescendo of unbolting deadlocks and a yowling creak of agonised hinges, Mat found himself being thoroughly peered at by a pair of hard, grey eyes.

Mat affected his widest, most innocent smile as he endured the scrutiny of that bleak gaze.

'I am truly sorry to disturb you...'

'Closed. Come back tomorrow.'

The door slammed as best it could on those unyielding hinges, leaving Mat staring at the crumbling door.

Curling his hands into fists, Mat tried not to sound like he was talking through gritted teeth.

'It's urgent. My friends are very sick.'

Silence.

'Look, if you could just give me something for this evening. I have information on what we need, I could get them now, and be out of your way.'

Still nothing.

'They are dying.' The stark words brought a harsh vision to him; two bodies, wrapped in filthy blankets, a slick pool of silty water forming beneath them from the seeping damp of the cold ground. He banished the sight from his mind and tried to focus on his intent.

There was no movement, no sign that the healer was still there. Mat fist's ached to pummel the door. His lips curled in an almost feral sneer.

'If lives are of no interest to you, I can pay well, you witless, goat- loving son of...'

The door yawned wide with a whine, revealing a large man with a huge paunch and imposing beard.

'How much?' the man asked, his slate eyes now flickering with interest.

Mat reached to his waist and unclasped a small sack of coin. Bouncing the pouch on his palm, he glared at the man above a grin that was more a baring of teeth.

'However much it takes.'


	4. Chapter Three

(A/N - Apologies for the short chapters. I have a limited attention span, and therefore assume readers do too. I'll try to lengthen them in future. Plodding on, here's chapter three.)

**Disclaimer** - Regrettably, I do not, have never, and will never own any of Robert Jordan's characters or any other sundry WoT material. No money (nor good) shall come of this, so please don't sue me.

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

Mat scowled at the man's broad back as they entered the healer's dark, shabby practice. While the insufferable fellow busied himself tinder-lighting the scattered candles, Mat took in his oppressive surroundings.

The smell was almost overpowering, a pungent miasma of herbs, spices and unnameable concoctions assaulted his senses, and he fought the urge to vent a violent sneeze. The feeble light hinted at shapes and shadows that lined the walls and shelves of the rickety room. As more light began to blossom, Mat could see the muted glint of what he first took to be weapons grow into defined shapes, most of them pointed and deeply unpleasant looking.

He surmised that they must be tools of the medicinal trade, although Mat could not fathom how the torturous equipment could possibly be used in any healing process. He absently wondered what Perrin would make of these little, metal devices. Their wrought intricacy would probably fascinate his quiet friend, but Mat found the shiny objects induced enough queasiness to offset any further curiosity.

Not wishing to dwell on the nightmarish purposes of the apparatus, Mat turned his attention to the fire feebly smouldering in the hearth, and was surprised to discover that what he first took to be a large mound of furs lying before it was actually a dog of some kind. Mat didn't think he had ever seen a dog of such size. Its huge, gangling limbs almost seemed to fill half the room.

As though aware of the scrutiny, the hound laboriously lifted an eyelid to cast an incurious eye on its visitor. Evidently unimpressed, the dog expelled a soft snort before lolling back into its somnolent state. Mat had the distinct impression the unwelcoming beast rarely stirred from this position.

His host was still fumbling with the candlewicks, his thick fingers struggling to keep a grasp on the flimsy splint he was using to light them.

Mat retrieved Per's note from his coat pocket, and glanced at its contents. In his neat hand, Per had written a list of the sufferer's symptoms, and the suggested curative's he required. Mat cleared his throat before addressing the healer.

'I've brought a note from my healer. It's got a list of the things we...'

'You have a healer?' the man interrupted gruffly 'Why'd you come here then? Get some kind of pleasure waking good folk from their sleep?' He turned to face Mat, his eyes taking in his well-made clothes and lingering on the coin on his belt. 'Some new sport for the Lords, eh?'

'I'm no Lord, and my healer cannot leave the sick unattended.' Mat's glower deepened 'I trust this is explanation enough. I do not have time to bandy words with you, friend.'

The man grunted. Snatching the note from Mat's hand, he roved his eyes over it with deliberate slowness, scratching his scalp through none too clean hair. Grunting again, he moved to a peculiar hatch in the wall, which he thudded with a meaty fist.

Bemused, Mat watched as the hatch opened and the note disappeared within. He had time to glimpse a small, pale hand grasp the note before the small door slammed shut.

'Give her a moment.' The man said in his gruff voice.

Mat began to tap his toe lightly on the rough floorboards. This appeared to annoy his host, who shot Mat a flinty glare. Mat responded with an offensively mild smile, and continued to rhythmically rock his foot on the worn floor.

'How long is your wife going to be exactly?'

'She's not my wife.' He snapped. With a scowl, he gestured at the motionless dog 'I'd sooner marry that half-dead cur.'

Charm was not one of the man's well-hidden qualities, it appeared.

The brief attempt of conversation immediately lapsed into silence. Mat impatience continued to grow ever more unbearable.

He was about to question the man further, when the hatch sprang quickly open and just as quickly shut again. It was a moment before Mat realised a note had been deposited beneath it.

The man grabbed the note and thrust it towards Mat without so much as a glance at its contents.

'Follow what it says.' He muttered before striding to the door and holding it ajar.

Ignoring the man, Mat scanned the return note, frowning at what had been written there in elegant script.

'I cannot wait that long,' he protested, eyes lifting to meet the bulky man's sardonic sneer. 'I have to get back as soon as possible.'

The man rolled his hefty shoulders 'Follow what's on that note, or don't come back. No skin off my nose.'

Mat crushed the note in his fist as he approached the open door, seething at the time he had wasted in this swindler's company.

'You won't find another healer in this town, though.'

The man's quiet tone, thick with oily satisfaction, had Mat a hair's breadth from flicking one of his hidden blades to his palm.

Breathing deeply, he turned to the man once again.

'Get me what I need, and you get this.' He brandished the moneybag in front of the man's ruddy jowls. 'But do not play me for a fool. I will be back within the hour, and I expect to get what I am paying you for.' His frustration getting the better of him, he flourished a knife seemingly from nowhere, and felt a jab of satisfaction at the man's startled flinch.

'Or we might find ourselves testing your companion's healing abilities in a different way.'

Fighting a grin, Mat slammed the door behind him leaving his recent acquaintance gaping amidst a shower of splinters.


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer** - I don't own it. I just borrow it. No profit resulting. Thanks.

* * *

** CHAPTER FOUR**

The Standard of Laybridge lived up to its name; the tavern was as dingy and miserable as the rest of the town. Mat sat cradling a cup of revoltingly warm beer in his hands, not even daring to take a sip of the vile stuff. The only other drink available was a curious amber liquid that look thick enough to choke a man. Mat had never heard of a tavern that did not offer wine, even if the wine was rank enough to poleaxe a cow.

Evidently, he was constantly discovering things that made him dislike this town all the more.

A group of disconsolate looking fellows sat hunched in the opposite corner, apparently too disinterested to converse with one another, although they appeared to have no trouble drinking the warm ale; a number of drained tankards sat dejectedly on the table before them.

Mat couldn't blame them for their melancholia. The place seemed to leech the lustre from a man. Or perhaps that was just his current frame of mind.

He wondered where Cal was. Had his friend had any luck locating a healer? Mat hoped so; the prospect of paying that fat fool made him feel ridiculously angry. But perhaps the dolt was right. Maybe there was only one healer in this forsaken town.

If so, Mat guessed that Cal would eventually check any local taverns to seek out his companion. For some reason, they were always the first places he had looked for Mat in the past.

He was getting bored and increasingly agitated. He needed a distraction. Mat began to glance around for something that might wile away some time.

A game of dice was out of the question. The fellows at the table looked as though they might either collapse in tears or a launch an assault if approached.

Turning his attention elsewhere, Mat noticed that landlady was flashing what she must have believed to be coy glances in his direction. He ignored her. He had neither the time nor the inclination for that sort of thing. Well, maybe he would have time for a woman with a bit more flesh on her frame, but certainly not one who looked like she had been hollowed to the point of starvation.

His only other option was the drowsing old man who lay face down on the bar- plank. Mat considered ways to wake the old fellow without causing him a fatal start.

Nothing came to mind. Nonetheless, Mat picked up his tankard, eased himself carefully off his rickety chair, and approached the bar.

The landlady flushed at his approach, a somehow bloodless blush that was near imperceptible from her sickly pallor. Settling himself on a stool not far from the old goat, Mat gave the woman a smile. Nothing too fancy of course, just enough to seem amiable. The woman's smile in return, however, was a great deal more than amiable. Mat cursed silently.

'And what brings a fellow like yourself to our charming little town?' She asked in a husky tone. Unfortunately, her vocal effort called to mind the brand of huskiness caused by a hard night on bad ale and bad tabac.

Mat tried to make his smile friendly, but not too suggestive. He certainly had no intention of encouraging her.

'I have been searching for a healer. They seem to be a little thin on the ground in these parts.'

'Another one, eh?'

Mat blinked 'Excuse me?'

'Two handsome men searching for a healer on the same night. I hope this becomes a habit.' She smiled, revealing an array of less than white teeth.

Mat winced. Cal had been here already. Why hadn't he thought of asking in a place like this first? That man was smarter than he had a right to be.

'I found your healer. Charming fellow he was too.'

'You mean Old Nath?' she cawed a raucous bark of what Mat assumed was laughter 'Don't worry about him. He's got as much spit in him as that toothless mutt of his.'

Mat grunted.

'I suppose he gave you a ear bashing for disturbing him at this hour, eh?' she chuckled at rueful expression. 'As I say, don't worry about that fat fool. He has nothing to do with what is practiced in that grotty little hovel of his, so your sick one will be in good hands.'

Mat feigned interest. 'Who does the work then? An apprentice?'

The woman shook her head, an almost sorrowful look on her face that Mat was sure was more affectation that genuine regret.

'No, not an apprentice. We all guessed she was his daughter, though we don't know for certain.' The woman heaved a dramatic sigh before narrowing her small, hard eyes. 'Did you see her?

Mat nodded. Well he had, in a way. That pale hand had looked feminine. Unthinking, he raised his tankard to his lips, and took long draft. Smiling through his revulsion, he managed a convulsive swallow.

'Who is she?' he asked in a slightly choked voice, desperately trying to distract himself from the burning after effects of the rancid ale.

'Well, they came here I'd say, oh, three winters past. I watched him lift her from his horse, sweet slip of a thing she was, and that's the last I saw her.' The woman sighed again. 'She was so precious, all wrapped up in this pretty red cloak, and he looked very fine in his green coat breeches, and I thought 'at last, we finally have some good folk in this town.'

The landlady paused to take a swig from the old man's tankard. He didn't appear to notice.

'You last saw her five years ago?' Mat asked in a disbelieving tone

'Oh, some have seen her since.' The woman assured 'She is still the Healer in this town, after all. Joeyce Fell had a birthing last season, and the girl was there to deliver the child. Did a good job too, by the sound of things.'

'But no one has actually seen her, apart from when she's healing?' Mat pressed.

The woman shook her head so her drooping curls swayed listlessly. 'She won't leave the practice unless there is urgent need for her in the town.'

Mat cursed aloud. If the girl was so reluctant to practice in her own village, how was he going to get her to the camp? He clung to the hope that Per could use her remedies well, without the need for her presence.

'What was that?' that supposedly seductive sound still rasped in the woman's voice. 'I didn't quite catch what you said.'

'Oh, nothing.' He muttered, noting that the woman was leaning over the bar in an attempt to display her less than admirable attributes. He had to stop doing that. Who would have thought that women would find the Old Tongue so seductive? And curse words at that!

'Perhaps she's just the nervous type.' Mat suggested, eager to distract her from whatever she was thinking.

'Hmmm? Oh, her.' To Mat's relief, the woman leaned away a little 'Perhaps. Perhaps he stops her leaving the place except when he knows she will get paid for her healing.' She shrugged her bony shoulders.

'How are we to know? Everyone is long past caring I suppose.'

'Except when they have need of her aid, I suppose.' Mat found he did not care for this woman's attitude towards the idea of someone being kept against their will.

The woman's expression became affronted. It seemed to be his night for offending people.

They lapsed into silence. The woman stared at him for a time, before resuming her unenthusiastic swabbing of the grimy bar.

The tavern door suddenly burst open with a thud loud enough to rouse the unhappy rabble at the table of despair.

Mat spun to face the door, his hand clasped a conveniently placed knife hilt. Upon seeing the perpetrator of the dramatic entrance, however, he relaxed.

Cal's eyes fixed upon him. 'Mat! Thought I'd find you here.'

The man was droll, Mat gave him that.

Bounding to the bar plank, Cal took a moment to catch his breath before speaking further.

'The healer's not at all happy with you, Mat, Did you really threaten him with a knife?'

The landlady's head came up sharply, eye's almost seeming to bore into Mat's. Mat flashed a devastating smile at her.

'Forgive my friend. He is somewhat prone to fancies.'

The woman did not appear convinced as he eyes flitted to his hands, obviously searching for a weapon of some kind.

Cal was still spluttering as Mat grasped his shoulder and hauled him from the bar.

'The man was an imbecile.' Mat hissed ' He needed persuading.'

'So you persuaded him with your knife?' Cal sounded doubtful.

'It does not matter. For all his bluster, he needs the money. Who doesn't in this place?

Cal glanced around 'It is sort of shabby, isn't it?'

'You've noticed. Good. The man will help us. We just have to wait a little, that is all.'

'How long?' Cal was wringing his hands 'Lawes was so ill when we left, Mat. Per doesn't know if he'll make it.'

Mat clasped his friend's shoulder, reassuringly this time. 'Don't worry. I know what I'm doing.'

For some reason, Cal's expression grew even more fretful.

'Stop that.' Mat snapped, glancing around the bar. The men were now eyeing the pair, their faces a mixture of consternation and dull irritation.

Pushing Cal down into a chair, Mat hitched his own seat closer to his friend.

'Everything is going to be fine. We just have to wait a little.'

'Wait for what?' Cal murmured, his eyes bright with fear.

'I don't know.' Mat muttered. An odd sensation was flittering in the back of his mind. It lacked the strength of its previous incarnations, but it was there nonetheless.

'But I have a feeling we are going to find out soon enough.'


	6. Chapter Five

A/N - Hearty thanks to Jonathan, Aerin and Driten for the reviews!

**Disclaimer** - See previous notes of like.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

She watched the man with yellow hair round the corner and disappear from view. He had to be with the other one. Two strangers searching for a healer the same night, when the town had not seen a traveller in seasons? It was surely more than chance.

She let the flimsy hanging brush through her fingers, and walked back to the narrow pallet.

Her belongings were strewn before her, ready to be bundled into a hastily prepared knapsack.

A sad array indeed.

She felt more than heard the rasping snore from the floor below. Encouraged by the sound, she urged herself to hurry, packing her meagre gatherings into the sack with cold, unsteady fingers.

Knotting the bindings, she hefted the sack on her shoulder, and surveyed the room that had been her home for these past seasons.

Nothing, always nothing.

She opened the door, and stepped lightly down the staircase.

She chided herself for her efforts to be as silent as possible. He would not realise her disappearance, or anything for that matter, at least until sunrise.

Still, she reasoned, old habits were hard to kill.

The Llayroot-laced wine lay mostly splattered on the floor, oozing from the wooden mug grasped loosely in his heavy hand.

She skirted him and the liquid carefully. The latter reminded her of spilt blood, and a queasy feeling began to gnaw at her innards.

What was she doing?

Getting herself killed, most likely.

The thought that this eventuality was preferable to a lifetime of confinement spurred her into the stores room.

The myriad of jars and phials glimmered in the dim candlelight.

She quickly scanned the labels and contents of the vestibules, pausing every now and then to shake her head, or deposit a selected container into her carrier.

Satisfied she had all she required, the girl moved into the room with the man who had been her companion and captor.

Stepping over his bulk, she started at another of his sporadic snores before leaning to pat the beast at the hearth.

The dog raised his head in acknowledgement before lapsing back into his customary doze.

With one last glance at her surroundings, and a deep breath, the girl was gone.

* * *

Eyeing the men at the table with a surreptitious eye, Cal turned back to Mat, his face troubled.

'You are right, Mat. They do not look too happy with us at the moment.'

Mat nodded in assent.

Apparently, the group had found a welcome distraction from their reverie; intimidating the newcomers. Or at least trying to. Mat doubted any of the motley group had a decent fight in them.

He reminded himself that they were not here to cause trouble. The only thing Mat wanted right now was his goods from the healer and a swift leave taking.

The landlady continued to shoot glances at Mat, but they were certainly no longer of the welcoming variety. Mat had not touched his drink since the last accidental sip, and his expression at that unhappy event had been sufficient to off put any desire Cal had to purchase one.

Evidently they weren't the free spending customers she expected.

Cal was still skirting his gaze around the bar nervously. Mat could sense his concern.

The man would fight if pressed, and fight hard too, but was always reluctant to embroil himself in conflict, no matter how pugnacious the prospective combatant.

'Relax,' Mat hissed. 'We will leave soon. The healer must have what we need ready by... '

A scraping of chair legs, painfully loud in the oppressive silence, stopped him.

Turning slowly, Mat saw a man at the aggressors table rise. The lug stood there, never taking his eyes from Mat's, and simply glowering in silence.

'Is there a problem, friend?' Mat asked lightly. It was an effort to keep his voice affable.

The man snorted.

'Friend?' there was a derisive note in his thickly accented voice. 'No problem, _friend_. I just want to clear a little matter with you'

Mat spread his hands. 'Be my guest.'

'That mouth ever get you in trouble, boy?' the man snarled, not pleased with the lack of effect his supposed intimidation was exacting.

'Several times.' Mat bared an insolent grin. Cal groaned softly.

The man's colour deepened as Mat flourished a knife into his hands and began to idly nick his fingernails.

'That the best trick you got?' yhe man hissed, evidently unimpressed. 'Hear you used the same one on Nath. You had a lucky escape boy. It'll take a lot more than that little pig-sticker to worry me.'

The man was really starting to try his patience. Mat could feel anger rising in him, almost to a point he couldn't control. He didn't need this right now.

'Let us make a deal.' Mat stated in a neutral tone, all pretence at nonchalance gone. 'I will continue to sit here with my friend for a while, and you sit there with yours.' He leaned forward slightly. 'I am not in a playful mood tonight, so any little flurry you are planning may not be to your liking.'

'You threatening me?' the man snarled.

'No, you imbecile, I am telling you to sit down and shut that fool mouth of yours.'

The words thrummed in the shocked silence. With some dismay, Mat realised he should have directed that piece of advice at himself.

'Mat, we have to get out.' Cal tugged at Mat's sleeve, distracting him from the reddening brute, which was something of a mistake.

With a roar, the man charged at Mat, launching the full weight of his considerable bulk at his opponent.

The table didn't stand a chance. Mat felt the breath heave from his lungs as he hit the floor amid a mass of splintered debris, and was trying to gasp some air when the man raised his seemingly hugh fist above his shoulder.

Mat raised his arms to his face in futile defence against that overbearing blow, still desperately drawing for breath, and hoped Cal would intervene.

Soon.

* * *

The sound that reached her ears wasn't what she was expecting from the place.

A cacophony of roars and jeers greeted her, occasionally punctuated by a painful sounding thud. The girl gave a convulsive swallow.

Apprehensive to the point of being sick, she slowly reached her had to the door before resolving her effort into a hard push.

She gazed at the sight before her in wonder as startling silence ensued.

Splintered tables and tankards littered the floor, as did an array of irate looking men, all frozen in curiously awkward positions.

Stupefied, she lowered her glance to meet the eyes of a young dark-haired man lying almost at her feet.

Well, meet _an_eye to exact; the other was swollen shut.

They all gaped at the intruder, as though deliberating whether to continue the melee, investigate the newcomer, or worse, rope them into the fray.

Realising her appearance was not helping her in the situation, she slowly lowered the hood of her black cloak, feeling unbearably awkward under such harsh scrutiny.

A small, wan smile on her face, she again lowered her gaze to the familiar man at her feet.

'I believe you require a healer?'


	7. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

It was unbearably hot.

The glowing braziers had been liberally sprinkled with moisture to rouse steam from the coals, and the air in the confines of the tent was thick with pungent vapour. Mat swept a hand across his forehead, only to feel the skin bead with moisture almost immediately.

The humid air seemed to glean breath from his scorched lungs, and the heat was causing his swollen eye to throb. Thankfully, this was the last tent that needed the ministrations of their temporary healer. The rest of the sick had been attended and deemed 'comfortable' by the quiet newcomer.

Mat glanced at the girl, who was moving steadily amongst the pallets bearing his sick men. She showed no signs of fatigue. In fact, she had displayed no emotive signs since her arrival. The enormity of the situation seemingly failed to daunt her, and she had quickly set herself to the task of healing.

When she had first begun to tend his men, Per had hovered anxiously at her side, eagerly acting upon her terse requests. After Per had observed her for a time, she brusquely moved him to treat the men in the fashion she had demonstrated. Between them the pair had managed to attend almost all of the sick, and there had been no more fatalities.

Mat wiped at his slick face again. Rubbing the sweat from his palm, he noticed the girl had stopped and appeared to be searching for something.

With a sense of foreboding, Mat picked up the satchel close to his feet and carried it to her. She accepted the bag wordlessly, deftly rooted around its seemingly fathomless depths. The girl finally produced a jar, which she held before him expectantly. Mat groaned. He recognised its disturbingly green contents.

Grasping the container with obvious reluctance, Mat approached the nearest brazier. He hesitated before unstopping the vessel, wincing in anticipation of its effects. Using the tiny spoon to scoop a small amount of the green powder, Mat held it above the brazier with a marked lack of enthusiasm. He exhaled heavily then stayed his breath as he slowly upended the pungent contents of the spoon on the glowing coals.

The fumes rose immediately. Mat squeezed his good eye tightly shut against its stinging effects and stumbled back to the healer.

'Here,' he sputtered, holding the jar as far from his face as possible.

The girl took the offending item and placed it back in the satchel. The cloying fumes all but made him gag, and his uninjured eye now stung almost as much as his companion. Mat fervently hoped it would be the last time he would have to undergo that little ritual for the remainder of the evening.

Mat eyed the girl askance.

'That stuff really stinks.'

She ignored his patent stating of the obvious.

Mat rolled his eyes, wincing at the pain it caused him.

The girl was as bad as Nynaeve. Well, without the tendency to sulk and screech like a stuck cat without the slightest provocation. Maybe not as bad as Nynaeve, but certainly as bad as those Aes Sedai. Well, perhaps not _that_ bad. Women were hard to understand, that was all. Except she was not exactly acting particularly..._womanish_ either.

Heading back to his cushion, Mat concluded that the girl was just odd.

Casting a glance at a pallet as he moved to seat himself, Mat caught sight of something peculiar.

The man who had snagged his attention was obviously resting. His breathing was unlaboured, and his colour pale, but not alarmingly so. Mat approached the pallet, his eyes fixed upon a curious black mark upon the man's skin. He couldn't fathom what it was. With some trepidation, he leaned for a closer inspection.

The mark on the man's throat was about half a finger length and risen from the flesh. Mat's nosed wrinkled in disgust. The thing looked gelatinous and greasy, like day old goose fat. He was just about to ask the girl for her opinion when the thing moved. Squirmed would be a closer description of its undulating writhe.

With a strangled grunt of disgust, Mat raised a hand to swat the creature from the man's flesh.

'Stop.' There was curious strength in that quiet command.

The girl moved quickly to him, as though afraid he would hit the disgusting beast. He stared as though she were a lackwit.

'That...thing is feeding off him.' he managed to splutter.

'No,' Her voice was firm as she corrected him 'It is healing the man. If the fever manages to reach his brain, he will die. This little one will stop the blood thickening and cool the fever. '

Mat stared as she plucked the thing from its host with a damp cloth and gently deposited it in a small flask.

'It can do no harm. Our little friend gets a meal, and the sick one gets well.'

It was the first time Mat had heard her utter more than the single word sentences she customarily proffered.

'Sorry,' was all he managed to mutter.

The girl nodded and turned back to the man she was attending before the disruption.

Mat flopped down onto his cushion and somewhat queasily awaited the girl's next instruction.

A hastily muffled cough told him someone had entered the tent. Cal sat down beside him, eyes leaking tears.

'That stuff smells truly vile.'

Mat grinned at his friend.

'That is nothing. She puts _slugs_ on these men. _Blood-sucking _slugs.'

Cal brightened. 'You mean the leeches? Fascinating little creatures, aren't they?'

Mat gaped at the blond-haired man, shaking his head in wonder. Eager to change the subject, he queried the whereabouts of Per.

'Oh, he is still flitting about. I think he is a little overexcited by his new found knowledge.'

'Or his new found partner in healing.'

Cal frowned at Mat's insinuation.

'Mai? Do you really think so? She seems very efficient, but...'

Cal trailed off they both turned gaze to inspect the newcomer.

A dark cloak covered her frame, and it was evident that she preferred to keep the hood of the black garment raised as often as possible. Mat could not tell if she was pretty or not. Not that it mattered, of course, but it didn't hurt a man to know. When the hood was lowered her somewhat unmanaged brown hair obscured her face. He could tell she was pale, but that was about all.

As though sensing the scrutiny, the girl turned towards the pair to cast a furtive glance in their direction.

Both men immediately became absorbed in studying the tent floor. Mat had no desire to make her feel uncomfortable. She was saving their hides, after all.

The landlady's anecdote of the girl had pricked his curiosity, though. Where had she and that insufferable oaf Nath come from, and why settle in Laybridge, one of the most desolate towns Mat had encountered? And why the signs of a more comfortable background? It seemed unlikely that a man as brutish as Nath had once been decent.

He had tried to place her accent, but it simply wasn't distinctive. And that name gave no indication of her origins.

Mai.

The Old Tongue word for Maiden.

A name as mysterious and unreadable as its bearer.

'What would have happened if she had not come here, Mat?' Cal murmured, interrupting his thoughts.

'I am trying not to think about it.' Mat rose from the cushion as the girl walked towards them, a different question prickling his mind.

_Why did you come here?_

He was watching her measured step as she approached them, healer's bag in hand, when the realisation hit him.

The dice had stopped.

* * *

Mat glanced over his shoulder.

'Mind that root there.'

The girl, hardly more than a dark shape in the wan moonlight, deftly skirted the ground-knot.

He turned his attention to their rather perilous trek. Mat could feel her eyes on him as they walked. In the oppressively silent darkness, it was more than uncomfortable.

His brief attempts at conversation had been rebuffed by the girl. She simply refused to respond.

That unbroken silence in the face of his witticisms had finally made it clear to Mat that the girl could not be enticed into conversation. He was privately beginning to wish they had found less reticent aid.

With more than a little relief, Mat realised they were approaching their destination.

'It is quite small, I am afraid. All the bigger tents are...well , I suppose you know what is occupying the bigger tents.'

He untied the door binding, and held the tent opening wide for the girl. They had to stoop slightly to enter, but the tent was comfortably roomy once inside. Mat cleared his throat.

'It is a little musty in here. Sorry about that. Shay uses this one to concoct his rancid excuse for wine.' His smile faltered. 'Used to use it, I mean.'

He could sense her eyes upon him again. It really was unnerving. Clearing his throat one more, he forced the smile back into position.

'Anyway, you should be fine in here for tonight. Tomorrow I will arrange for Cal to accompany you home.'

'I am not going back.'

Mat blinked.

'Sorry?'

'I am not going back. I can stay here and help with the sick, if you wish. If not, I shall make my way elsewhere.'

Her face was obscured by cloak and shadow, making her expression unreadable. Mat could not detect the slightest betrayal of emotion in her voice. Light, but this one was strange.

He rubbed the back of his neck, flinching as his cold hand started the flesh there. Lowering his arm, he pondered the predicament. The girl was useful, no doubt. And there was no guarantee that his men would make a satisfactory recovery by first light. But she was so _odd_. He could sense no danger in her, but she was certainly unsettling to be around.

And what of that oaf, Nath? Mat had an unhappy vision of the brute thundering his way through the camp for his errant Healer.

Sighing, Mat made his decision.

'If you want to stay, then you are welcome. Your help here has been most appreciated.'

Her lack of response was becoming somewhat characteristic, but it still irritated him. She took his words as though she had expected them the whole time. He was about to add a pithy comment, but the girl surprised him.

'Thank you.'

Mat shrugged, and gestured to the mound of blankets in the corner of the tent.

'There should be enough to keep you warm through the night. Oh, and Cal has volunteered to make breakfast, so I hope you have a strong constitution.'

Nothing.

Feeling more than a little redundant, Mat turned to leave.

Those eyes were on him again as he made his way through the shadows. In his consternation, he neglected to avoid the very knot he had warned his companion of moments earlier.

After a brief headlong stagger he turned to glance back, cheeks flushing slightly. She was there at the tent opening, watching him. Mat had the curious impression that she was smiling.

Scowling, he flipped her a mocking little wave before stomping back to his tent, glad to be away from the girl and that strange gaze following him into the darkness.


	8. Chapter Seven

A/N - Ahem, I am proud(?) to present the LONGEST CHAPTER EVER. I do hope you're sitting comfortably. Oh, and thanks to Alix for the review. This one's for you.

**Disclaimer** - Disclaimed.

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

The wan light seeped into the darkness, bleeding fissures of sickly rose through the fading star flung sky. The one known as Mai watched the encroaching dawn with leaden calm. It was over. Her resolution deserted her, and a sigh quivered through her frame, escaped through her lips in a swirl of vapour that dissipated in the chill air. She wrapped the blanket tighter and hunched into its warmth. The relief was a snug glow within her. It would fade as the day grew old and the threat of night approached, dwindle into a cold wad of dread, but for now she was safe. Content. She closed her eyes as her forehead came to rest on her knees, and smiled as the first lark trill hushed the gaping silence.

* * *

Cal idly stirred the contents of the pot whilst stifling a yawn with his other hand. Breakfast duty was hardly where he wanted to be at a freezing dawn break, although there wasn't exactly much option. He had made it to his blankets earlier than Mat, and none of the other men were in a fit state to be ladling porridge at first light.

He peered at the brightening sky. At least it wasn't raining. Encouraged by this small phenomenon, he poked the spoon at the sticky mass with a little more enthusiasm.

He was investigating the possibility of a porridge invasion by an errant biteme when he heard a polite cough behind him.

He was somewhat startled to discover its perpetrator.

'Good morning, Mai. I hope you are fond of oats.' He hefted the spoon from the pot, and stared at the insipid stuff's ponderous grip of the spoon. He gave the girl an abashed smile. 'Particularly sticky oats.'

Her hood was absent from its customary position, and Cal was surprised to see a small, almost wry smile on her pale face.

'That looks...fortifying.'

Cal's smile broke into a grin. It seemed their healer had a sense of humour under all that austerity.

'Breakfast is not on my usual duty list, I am afraid. Still, better me than Mat. You should see what that man can do to a rash of bacon and a defenceless egg. It is enough to give you nightmares.'

The girl's smile evaporated. Cal frowned slightly. Had he offended her? If so, the affront must have been very oblique. He chose to veer the subject.

'Did you sleep well?'

Mai's face had resumed the expressionless façade of the previous evening.

'Tolerably well.' Her terse words did little to absolve his discomfort.

'Good, well, I mean, it is not always easy adjusting to outside living. I understand the tent you had was quite small... '

'The one who used it before, he died.'

It was not a question, but Cal responded to it as such. Her directness had caught him off guard.

'Yes, Shay was one of the two who succumbed to the sickness.'

Cal lapsed into silence. He had the curious impression that the girl was trying to affront him as he had inadvertently, and inexplicably, offended her. Her voice interrupted his reverie.

'I am sorry.'

Cal managed a small smile. 'Many more may have suffered the same had you not come here. You have done the Band a great service.'

He ladled a hearty dollop of porridge into a wooden bowl before offering it to Mai with a grave expression.

'In honour of your great deeds, my lady,' he declared in a sonorous voice. She gazed at him with utter bewilderment, causing a sheepish smile to break Cal's ceremonial gravitas.

'It is not much of a heroes reward, I am afraid.'

Mai gave in to a smile as she took the proffered bowl. 'That all depends on how hungry the hero is.'

Cal laughed, glad to see that strange, fixed expression had left her, at least for the time being. He watched her sit on a nearby cushion to enjoy the spoils of her efforts, before turning his attention to the rapidly congealing contents of the pot.

* * *

Mat winced as the chill of the frigid air immediately gleaned the warmth from his body. Knuckling the bottom of his spine, he squinted into the uncharacteristically bright morning. It may be have cold, he reasoned, but at least it wasn't raining.

His stomach gave a loud growl. Mat had hardly eaten owing the events of the day before. Disappointingly, there was no appetising aroma in the air, but then recalled that Cal had volunteered for breakfast duty. He sighed. Porridge again. Setting off towards the less than enticing meal, Mat took in the surprisingly agreeable morning.

The sky was an exhilarating azure hue, unbroken save for the small scudding clouds that were pleasantly pink tinged. The air was cold, but not bitterly so, and the breeze held a tangibly crisp aroma that reminded Mat of winter at Emond's Field, and the much vaunted festival at Year's End.

Encouragingly, there was not a cough, sneeze or groan to mar the quiet of the morning, unbroken save for the occasional joyful trill of a Hedge Lark or the chatter of a Midgespry.

All in all, it was a rather satisfying start to the day.

Striding towards the cook fire, he grinned at the sight of Cal struggling with the stirring of his concoction. He was about to comment upon his friend's cooking prowess, or lack thereof, when he saw something that made his relatively lighthearted mood wither into surliness.

The girl was there.

Deciding he would like to conserve his jovial mood for as long as possible, he determined a detour to the bathing-tent might a good option. There would be time for breakfast later, preferably in his own company.

He glanced at her as he passed. She had obviously seen him, but hastily averted her eyes when he glimpsed her. At least she wasn't creeping around with that hood up, although unruly would be too tame a word to describe the hair that still obscured most of her face.

Most promisingly, however, she had stopped glaring at him like some strange, light-struck hare.

Mat whistled a lively little tune as he walked on, priding himself on managing to keep his geniality intact.

* * *

Struggling with the ever-thickening porridge, Cal glanced at the girl and noticed that she was not so much eating the porridge as simply rearranging its position in the bowl.

'It is not that bad, surely? You have to eat. We cannot have our healer as sick as the ones she is here to tend.'

Dropping her spoon into the gelatinous oats, Mai gave a small sigh.

'I have insulted him.' She muttered, waving a vague gesture in the direction of the bathing tent. Cal frowned as he identified the dwindling form of the person she was indicating.

'Mat?' Cal gave a small snort. 'I do not believe so. You have done everything in your power to save his men.'

Her head snapped up suddenly, and Cal found that disconcerting gaze focusing keenly upon him.

'_His_men?' she demanded.

Cal frowned. 'Mat is the general of the Band of the Red Hand.'

Mai groaned as she lowered her face to her hands.

'I have insulted the leader?' She sighed. 'I had no idea. I have been so rude!'

Smiling gently at her plight, Cal sat on his haunches so he was level with her covered face.

'Mai, we woke you from your sleep, nearly roped you into a fight, all but dragged you into the middle of the wilderness, and still had the audacity to ask you to help us. I think Mat will excuse whatever it is you did that was so 'rude'.'

Mai was peering through the cage of her fingers, the shade of concern still etched in her eyes. They really were extraordinarily blue, Cal mused.

'I feel more myself today. Last night I felt...strange. I felt I remembered. ' she shook her head in a helpless fashion.

'What?' Cal urged, frown deepening.

'It does not matter now. I am myself.'

She uncovered her face and smiled at him suddenly, eyes too bright. Cal felt a sense of unease at her mercurial flashes of emotion. Last night she had betrayed nothing. She seemed a different creature to this flighty girl.

'Alright, seen as you have now been officially familiarised with Lord General Matrim Cauthon, perhaps I should introduce myself.'

He jutted out his hand, holding her bemused gaze until she grasped it with her own.

'Callart Delaine.' He grinned, shaking her hand somewhat vigorously.

'We have been introduced already. Last night. I showed you the leeches... ' Mai sounded utterly perplexed.

'Just humour me.' Cal raised an eyebrow. 'And you are...?'

'Mai.'

'Just Mai?'

She returned his grin. 'Just Mai.'

'Very well, Just Mai, I request that you accompany me on an inspection of the men.' He stood, gesturing her to do the same.

As they approached the infirm tents, Cal felt a little disquietened. He was hoping for a little more information than, although he did not suppose it really mattered, not when she would be leaving so soon.

* * *

Mat emerged from the bathing tent, his good mood now as effectively dampened as the rest of him.

The heat of the water had caused his eye to resume its rhythmic throb, and the swollen flesh now irked him to the point of distraction. It was not so much painful, but rather a perpetual irritant, and small irritants always brought out the worst in Mat, a trait Egwene had pointed out several times during their childhood in the Two Rivers.

'How can you complain so much over a splinter?' she had once demanded after Mat's presentations of his 'injured' finger to anyone within distance of his incessant complaining. 'You hardly squeaked when you fell out of that tree last spring.'

He had glowered at observation, but her words had been true then, and they were equally true now. The young Egwene had almost always been right, he conceded graciously. Except in her fancies about marrying Rand. He briefly mused upon what would have happened if the pair had not left Emonds Field, but realised what a pointless run of thought that would be. What was there to gain in getting yourself all fussed up or dewy eyed over what could have been?

Approaching the cooking area, Mat noted with approval that it was deserted. Cal's stint at breakfast duty had obviously ended, and although the porridge did not look exactly delectable, Mat helped himself to a large bowl of the stuff. He even managed a few mouthfuls before abandoning the ordeal.

Consoling himself with the thought that he had at least now had little more room for his lunch, Mat headed in the direction of the infirmary tents. He had avoided the girl long enough, and the combination of his bothersome eye and less than hearty breakfast had soured his mood beyond repair.

The first person he saw was Per, who was busy moving between the tents with a distinct air of self-import.

'My Lord,' the healer declared with an obsequious little bow. 'I can inform you that the patients are much improved.'

'Per, I am still not a Lord. And thank you for the update, but I think I shall have a look for myself.'

Per's expression suddenly looked aghast.

'Oh no, My Lord.' Mat found his path blocked by the little man. 'I do not think that would be wise at all. We have aid now, there is no requirement for you to... '

'Per, if I were going to catch this thing, I think I would have sickened by now. Besides, I doubt going into this tent will bring any more danger than nearly shivering to death on a hilltop in the freezing rain.'

The small healer looked crestfallen. 'I only suggested it to help the Band, My Lord. I did not mean to subject you to such peril.'

Did the man have to be so dramatic?

'I know, Per, and you have my thanks for your concern, but I am going in.'

With an exasperated sigh, Per nodded.

'Very well, My Lord, but I must stress that this is against my wishes. If you start to feel any symptoms; fever, headache... '

He may not have been sick, but Mat was definitely getting a headache.

'...anything at all, then I must insist'

'Per, you have my word that I will definitely consult you as soon as I feel the slightest whisper of a sneeze.'

Mollified at last, Per stepped aside.

* * *

The tent was still sticky and hot, but it lacked the aggressive atmosphere of the previous evening. Cal glanced up as Mat entered and gave him an innocent smile.

'Did you enjoy your breakfast?'

Mat countered with a broad grin. 'There is nothing like a warm soak to get a man in the mood for badly prepared porridge.'

He settled himself onto a cushion. 'It was a little below your usual standard, though. I only managed three mouthfuls instead of the customary five.'

Cal held raised his palm in an apology. 'I promise to try harder next time, oh exalted one.'

Mat smiled absently and glanced at the girl, who was busying herself at the pallet farthest from the pair. He supposed he should make an effort with her. It wasn't as though she was glaring at him any more. With a sly grin at Cal, he raised his voice slightly.

'What say we enrol our newest recruit on the breakfast duty?'

Cal turned to look at the girl in time to see her pale skin suffuse with sudden colour.

'Do not embarrass her,' he hissed in an undertone. 'She may be quiet, but I actually managed to have a conversation with her this morning.'

Mat raised his eyebrows.

'A conversation? As in talking in more than one word sentences?' Cal frowned at the sarcasm in his friend's voice.

'Do not make it any more difficult for her, Mat. She is helping us, so why not treat her with a little less distain?'

'You were not the one she was glaring at last night.'

'And I am not the one making her feel uncomfortable this morning.' Cal retorted, his voice laced with uncharacteristic heat.

Mat studied his friend silently for a moment.

'I suppose it is a good thing she is staying then,' he breezed in an offhand manner. 'Seen as you are suddenly so concerned with her, I mean.'

It was a petty thing to say, but Mat was not above admitting that he could be like that sometimes.

Cal sighed. 'I am not enamoured of her Mat, I just do not want to see her upset. She seems a little volatile at times. And how do you know she is staying?'

'She mentioned it last night.' Mat shrugged. 'I told her it was not a problem.'

'So I am the one with overt concern for her, even though you are the one who asked her to stay?'

'She asked me,' Mat snapped, before shooting a withering look at his friend. 'She really is not my type, Cal.'

'Is that all you think about? Can you not just have a little consideration for someone? It does not hurt, you know.'

With somewhat typical fickleness, Mat smiled.

'Very well, I promise to be nicer to our guest, if you promise not to churn out any more slop like that poor excuse for a breakfast.'

Cal glared at Mat, before breaking into a smile of his own.

'Bargain struck.'

Mat hefted himself to his feet. 'Well, I suppose I had better make a start at keeping to my end of the deal. Could you point me in the direction of the nearest absurdly sensitive female?'

Cal waved a hand at him as he left the tent.

Still smiling, Mat approached the girl.

_Mai, her name is Mai_

'Good morning.' He tried to make his tone as inoffensive as possible. 'How are the invalids today?'

Mat had not really expected a response. He was therefore somewhat surprised.

'Very well, I believe. No necessity for leeches today, you will be glad to know.' She flashed a tight smile at him before continuing. 'They should all make a good recovery from here, providing there are no setbacks.'

Mat had to stop himself for gaping. For her this was a tirade.

'Setbacks?'

'Oh, yes, they can be quite common. But I have taken precautions to stop it from happening. With a little luck, they should continue to do well.'

Mat grinned. 'A little luck shouldn't be too hard to find around here'

Mai frowned at his cryptic remark, and then appeared to notice his eye.

'I need to look at that. Sit there,' she commanded, pointing at the nearest empty pallet.

Mai picked up on the reason for his frown.

'Do not worry. The occupant of that one has been transferred into the tent without vapour treatment. Now sit.'

Mat sat.

She seemed to hesitate before touching him with her cool fingers, but she was surprisingly gentle in her investigation of the bruised flesh. Mat was now feeling more than a little uncomfortable at his treatment of her the previous evening. The whole experience of arriving at the camp must have been disconcerting, after all.

He was about to offer an apology for his rude handling of the situation, but Mai spoke first.

'I am sorry I was a little distracted last night. I put you in a position where you were ill at ease. I will try not to do that again.'

Mat supposed it had taken her a great deal of courage to say what he had just heard. It made him feel a touch small.

'Do not apologise. I hardly noticed.'

She would surely hear the lie, but he was only trying to make her feel less uncomfortable about the whole thing.

Mai smiled. 'It is kind of you to say that.' And then, almost as an afterthought, 'My Lord.'

'Light! How many times to I have to tell people that I am not a Lord. I mean, do I look like a bloody Lord?'

'I do not presume to know what makes someone look like a Lord, or even a bloody Lord, My Lord.'

Mat scowled, then scowled even harder when he realised she was smiling.

'I suppose you heard Per calling me that?'

Mai nodded.

'The next time any bloody fool calls me a Lord, they will be eating nothing but Cal's porridge for a week.'

'That is indeed a punishment.'

Mat grinned, then winced as she probed a particularly painful spot.

'Stay here a moment.' Mai instructed. Mat marvelled at the difference in the girl as he watched he rummage through her case. He felt a little guilty about goosing Cal.

She returned with a small bottle which she unstoppered and upended onto a pristine cloth.

'Hold this over your eye.'

Mat held the cloth to his skin. It felt deliciously cool.

He caught sight of the dark weal on her wrist as she stoppered the bottle.

Noting his frown and the direction of his gaze, she started a little and tried to cover the bruise. Mat gently held her arm to stop her from doing so.

'I suppose he gave this to you.' Mat murmured, his eyes never leaving the vicious looking wound.

Mai twisted slightly, trying to move from his grasp, but he held her firm.

He slid the long sleeve to expose the white flesh, only to reveal more welts. Her slender arm was mottled with them. Most looked like bruises from where a rough hand had grabbed her, others bore the vulgar crudeness of heavy blows.

'I suppose I had better not insult you by saying I fell over a ground-knot.' The girl's voice was bitter in the thick air. 'Although it is possible another could share your tendency for clumsiness. You really should look where you are going you know.'

'You are trying to change the subject.' He released her arm. 'If he could do this, how did you manage to leave?'

Her face tightened. For a terrible moment, Mat though she was going to cry.

'I drugged him.' Her quivering restraint broke into a tense smile. 'With just about the nastiest soporific I could find. It will be a few days before his little headache fades.'

'You did not kill him?'

Mai's smile faltered at his stark words.

'Kill him? Light, the man was a brute, but I could never have killed him.'

'Why?' Mat demanded hotly, his anger piqued by her shocked reaction.

Mai stared at him until Mat found he could meet her candid gaze no longer.

'Because I am not a murderer. He hurt me, I got away. That is about all there is to know.'

Mat stared at her back as she turned to the nearest bed.

'Keep that poultice on for the time being. I think you will find the injury much improved.'

Mat watched the girl as she walked away, her shoulders slumped and weary looking.

He found himself wishing that Nath would storm the camp. The idea of settling a number of scores with the fat brute appealed to him very much at the moment.

Mai glanced at him.

'Do not take that off yet.'

He realised that the poultice was somehow balled uselessly in his clenched fist. Mat scowled, and pressed the thing back against his injured eye.

* * *

It was dusk before Mat managed to make amends to his stomach for his inattentiveness. Per had managed to prepare a stew, the maddeningly tantalising smell of which had been luring him for some time.

Unsurprisingly, Cal was already at the cook fire when Mat arrived and was too busy gorging himself on a brimming bowl of the appetising broth to acknowledge his arrival with more than a brief nod.

Mai was also there, her head bowed so her fall of hair obscured her face. She appeared not to notice his arrival.

Once he had taken the edge off his hunger, Mat helped himself to another bowl of stew. He grinned at Cal, who was now reclining with his hands placed appreciatively on his stomach.

'I take it you enjoyed the meal?'

Cal gave a contented sigh. 'Most definitely. That man should reconsider his chosen profession. After all, we are no longer particularly in need of his healing services.' He paused to cast a knowing look at Mai, who failed to react.

'What's wrong?' Mat mouthed at his friend, although he supposed such surreptitiousness was not necessary. The girl seemed oblivious to their presence.

Cal shrugged, although a concerned frown now marred his open face.

Mat thought it rather strange. Mai has been talkative and almost normal this morning, but she now seemed to have reverted to the listless, disinterested girl he had seen last night.

'Can we tempt you to a little of Per's rather splendid soup, Mai?'

The girl raised her head dazedly at Mat's words, her eyes still fixed upon the dark ground before her.

'No. I am not hungry.' Her voice was soft, and had uncomfortably timid quality.

Mat's echoed Cal's frown.

'Are you sure? There is plenty left.'

'No.' Her eyes flickered to his face, and back to the ground again. 'I think I shall retire now.'

Without another word or glance, Mai rose wearily and headed in the direction of her tent. The two men watched her abrupt departure with twin expressions of concern.

'Was it something I said?'

Cal shook his head. 'No, she has been getting more and more withdrawn as the day has gone on. I think she is exhausted, Mat.'

'It's understandable, I suppose.'

Both men fell quiet for a moment.

'Perhaps I should go and make sure she gets to her tent safely.'

Mat considered his friend's suggestion. 'Nice thought, Cal, but I do not believe she would appreciate it right now. I think we should give her some time alone, to adjust and...things.'

Cal studied his companion with amusement. 'Well, you're certainly sticking to your side of the bargain.'

'What?'

'Our conversation this morning, Mat? Can you cast your mind back that far?'

Mat mock scowled.

'Anyway,' Cal continued. 'I commend you for your new found consideration. It looks as though I won't be making any porridge for a while.'

'That's a bloody relief.'

Cal ignored the retort.

After a moment. Mat glanced at his friend.

'Game of cards?'

Cal gave a snort. 'You know, a humiliating defeat would be the perfect end to this fine day, but I think I should like to go to my blankets with my coin supply relatively in tact.'

'Perhaps I should teach Per how to play.' Mat mused aloud.

'That would be very cruel, Mat.'

Mat grinned. 'I know.'

The blond man headed to his tent, leaving him to his deliberations. After a time, Mat produced the coin from his coat pocket, and held it before him in the fading light. It was the silver Tar Valon mark Moiraine had entrusted to him what seemed like a lifetime ago.

He watched its fierce glint in the waning firelight before tossing it into the air, deftly catching it, and rhythmically running it over the back of his hand.

He stayed there until the fire burned to ashes, and the stars began to sear the darkening sky.

* * *

Mai raised her eyes skyward, watched as the first sleek shimmers spiked the fathomless black that loomed above her. She could wear it like a shroud, this darkness, cloak herself within its depths as easily as swathing garb, so familiar was it now. How slowly the dawn came, how exquisitely slow, and all the while she felt herself slide deeper. They had looked at her, watched her. She had tried to conceal her terror, the fear at the implacable and unstoppable slither of darkness. It had been easier with Nath. He had neither known nor cared. Yet these two watched. Blue eyes and brown, watching her slow decent into brooding silence. She closed her eyes, and rested her head on her knees in unconscious mimicry of her morning ritual. Soon, the candle would gutter and drown in its own sustenance. Soon, the moth that battened at its glow would fly to woo another faceless spark. Soon, the mournful cry of the night creatures would shiver and thrall the chill air. How she had come to hate these sounds, this dissonant choir that tortured her whilst others slumbered. She cried burning tears as she waited for the dawn. It could not some soon enough.


	9. Chapter Eight

A/N – Well, here we are again. Thanks to attitudegall1 and Zsych for reviewing my burgeoning story. Here's the next instalment. I promise that something interesting will happen soon. At least, I hope so...

**Disclaimer** - The usual.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

The mild weather appeared to have a positive effect on the Band. Mat noted with appreciation the growing number of men that emerged from the infirmaries with each new morning. Mai was a staunch believer in something she termed 'active recuperation', and the men's timid requests for prolonged bed rest were met with stern disapproval from the healer. As a result, the tents were regularly encircled by groups of very sorry looking soldiers, huddled to their ears in grey cloaks.

Now that the greater number of men were on the mend, Mat had time to relax a little, unlike their industrious healer. Mai was always busy, constantly checked the men for any symptoms that they were lapsing back into sickness. He was starting to get concerned that she may be working herself a little too hard. The same thoughts had apparently occurred to Cal.

'She is going to waste away, Mat,' his friend murmured as they watched the girl weave through the tents in her curiously graceful fashion. 'She does not rest, and she hardly eats.' Cal paused to rub wearily at his eyes. 'I've tried asking her to slow down a little, but she just smiles, or changes the subject.'

Mat nodded. 'I know, I have noticed it too. I will ask Per to adopt more of her duties. Light knows, he has learned enough from her to cope. If she starts fainting off...'

Cal shot him a warning look.

'All right, if she starts looking as though she is about to faint off, we will have an enforced resting period. Or something.'

His friend had not looked particularly convinced.

The way Mat saw it, Cal fretted enough for the both of them. The blond man took to following the girl at every opportunity, and even surreptitiously handed food to her at regular intervals whether it be a bowl of Per' s stew, his own infamous porridge, or even small pieces of fruit.

Mai accepted these offering with that inscrutable smile of hers, a mere stretching of her full lips that seemed to betray nothing of her emotions.

In fact, Cal seemed so concerned over the girl that Mat withheld a piece of information he was sure would worry his friend all the more.

The girl did not sleep.

He had noticed her insomnia soon after her arrival, on an evening that had been so unusually bright that he had decided a quiet smoke in the solitude of the evening would be more than welcome. Huddled in a thick blanket, he had sat outside his sleeping quarters and puffed contentedly at his long stemmed pipe, exhaling plumes of fragrant smoke into the crisp air.

The stars had been so clear and so many that his eyes were constantly being lured to their brilliance, so Mat had put the pipe aside and lain with his head cradled in his hands.

He had roved his eyes over the familiar stars, reading their forms and naming each pattern in turn. Mat had done this since he was a child. The ability to know and name such distant, unfathomable things had made him feel more than a farm boy from a nowhere village, and somehow part of the unknowable, unreachable world he would never have the chance to explore.

As a boy he had dwelled upon the battles that had raged under the stars' incurious gaze, imagined what heroes from the stories he so loved to hear may have lived and died under the light of these mute witnesses. It had made him feel more real. Made him feel as though he _existed_.

But that night, as he had stared at the flickered motes of light, he had felt strangely insignificant, as though he were at the mercy of things that were not, and never would be, within his control. It was a feeling he had come to loathe.

And so he had torn his gaze from the somehow mocking stars, sat up and burrowed further into the warmth of the blanket.

It was then that he noticed the light.

He had not been surprised to realise it was emanating from Mai's tent. Now that the men were being tended in the infirmary she was the only one who occupied any tents nearby. He could just make out the shape of her. She appeared to be kneeling, no, sitting, neck arched to the sky and arms wrapped protectively around her knees.

Mat had watched her for a time, sure she had seen him, but the girl was unmoving, completely oblivious to anything but the stars he had studied only moments before.

A chill shudder ran through him, a quiver brought on by more than just the frigid air, and he had retreated into his tent, disturbed by the sense of uncharacteristic melancholia that permeated his being.

Several cups of wine later he had felt much more himself. His sleep had been deep and dreamless.

Mat had forgotten about the girl until he saw her the following morning. He watched her walk through the camp, head bowed and steps heavy.

_Light! She could not have slept at all!_

He reasoned that the small tent had been to cause of her sleeplessness and grudgingly chided himself for placing her in such cramped conditions. And so he had relocated her to another tent, this one a little closer to his own.

The second night of her sleeplessness he attributed to the upheaval of the move, the third he put down to the stresses of the unfamiliar lifestyle. By the fourth night, Mat had concluded that the girl simply had problems sleeping at night and was resting at some undisclosed part of the day.

After all, who could survive without sleep?

And so the small group continued to function. Mai tended to the men, Cal tended to Mai, and Mat quietly watched for any signs that the girl slept.

He found none.

* * *

'Need a hand with that?'

Mai yipped at the unexpected voice. She spun to face the intruder, nearly dropping the sack of grain she was laboriously dragging.

'Cal.' Relief made her a voice a touch breathless. 'It is not nice to sneak up on people like that.'

Cal quirked an eyebrow. 'Sneak? That is a very unpleasant word. I could take offence, you know.' He reached to take the burden from her reddened hands. 'What are you doing lugging this around anyway?'

'Per said he needed it for his stew. I think he is experimenting with new ingredients.'

A small frown creased Cal's forehead. 'Next time tell him to get it himself.'

'Actually, I volunteered. It is nice to be away from those tents.' She gave him one of her soft smiles. 'It can get a little too much at times.'

Cal grunted as he hefted the sack onto a broad shoulder and motioned her to walk with his free arm.

They walked slowly back to the camp, enjoying the soft bask of sunlight easing over the grassland. Mai raised her face to the warm glow. It was the first time the sun had managed to break the thick skein of iron cloud, and the morning seemed to sing with appreciation.

'Are you well, Mai?'

The blond man's voice was unobtrusively gentle. She supposed it was his quiet way that made her feel so at ease with him. It had been a long while since she had felt comfortable in another's presence.

'I am fine, thank you. I do not believe I will sicken with...'

'No, Mai.' Cal's tone was firmer now. 'Are you were here. You know, with the Band.'

'Oh yes. You and Mat have been very kind. And it is good to teach others what I know. Per has been very attentive.'

'I'm sure he has.'

She faltered at Cal's uncharacteristically harsh mutter. Unsure how to react to his quiet remark, Mai lapsed into silence.

Her companion gruffly cleared his throat. 'I mean, I'm sure he has learned a great deal.'

Mai glanced at him and noticed that his ears had turned a touch pink. She bit at her lip to prevent the smile that threatened to break her calm demeanour.

A warm breeze rippled though the soft grass, causing it to sway silkily about their ankles. Pools of small, delicate flowers bloomed amongst the verdant green, a sure sign of the blossoming spring.

'The weather is changing,' Cal observed, almost in echo to her thoughts. Mai nodded absently, her attention now taken by strange flashes of black she could suddenly discern through the swaying grass. She veered in its direction, increasing her pace as she grew closer to the dark form.

The creatures rose in a flurry of night-black wings, urging themselves into flight. All save one. The remaining beast stared at Mai, it's black bead of an eye fixed upon the girl with intensity. Cal moved beside her.

'Vile creature,' he spat, waving his free hand in an attempt to startle it into flight.

The creature merely blinked, a languid slick of grey momentarily blurring its glossy eye. Cal's scowl deepened as the creature moved sharply, darting its sleek head to sink a cruel hook of a beak into the flesh of its carrion. It held the nub of flesh for a moment, it's eye still resolutely set upon them, before slowly easing it down its throat with slick convulsions. It cocked its head at them as though inviting a response.

Cal hissed and kicked a nearby stone at the creature. With a harsh caw of outrage, the bird beat itself into the air, black wings glinting in the clear sunlight.

He glared at the mote of shadow as it melded into the pale sky before turning his attention to Mai. She was motionless, eyes fixed upon the small corpse the crows had left in their wake. It was a rabbit; it's tawny fur torn and matted with darkening blood.

'Come away, Mai.'

Her head was tilted slightly, an unconscious imitation of the departed crow. The girl's gaze never strayed from the small creature.

'How do you suppose it died?

Cal gave a hitch of his shoulders. 'Does it matter? It is only a rabbit.'

'You called them 'vile'. Why?'

'The crows? I do not know. They bother me.'

'They do not harm anything.'

'Exactly, they steal from others.'

'So there is nobility in killing then?'

Cal sighed. 'I am not going to stand here bandying words over the merits of crows. I do not like their scavenging. They feed off the misfortune of others, and I find that offensive, all right? Now can we leave?'

Wordlessly, Mai reached her pale hand into a small patch of flowers. The Eyebright blossom wavered in her grasp for a moment before gently drifting to the tiny corpse at her feet.

The flower seemed to glow, defiantly vibrant against the lustreless pelt of the dead creature. The rabbit looked so tiny, so defeated as the swaying grass touched and caressed it, its tips stroking the fallen beast with something close to reverence.

Cal shook his head as a disconsolate sigh wavered from him. 'Wonderful, now you have turned it into just about the saddest thing I have ever seen.'

Her full lips curved into a small smile.

'But Cal, it is only a rabbit.'

He watched her walk away from him, oversized cloak flitting in the breeze, and shook his head once again. With a last glance at the flower-adorned creature, he hitched the slipping grain to his shoulder and followed her back to the tents.

* * *

Cal slid the sack from his shoulder onto the cold earth.

'Have you seen Mai?'

Mat's eyes never strayed from the stones circling before him. 'I thought she was with you.'

'She was. I suppose she must have left to check on the men.'

Cal watched as Mat transferred the whirling stones to one hand as he reached for another from the small pile beside him and deftly incorporated it with the others.

'That is a great and yet strangely pointless talent you have there, Mat.'

Mat swiped a stone from the air, and flung it at his friend with breaking the mesmerising momentum. Cal laughed as he dodged the stone that hurtled past his ear.

'Good thing for me you cannot juggle with knives.'

Worryingly, a speculative look appeared on Mat's face. Cal chose to change the subject.

'The men look to be improving.'

'Indeed they do. In fact, the sickliest person here at the moment appears to be the one who is healing them.' Mat's eyes flickered to his friend's worried face. 'I assume you have noticed the same?'

'Of course. I am trying to watch her as best I can, but she has this habit of disappearing when my back is turned.' He scrubbed a hand through his blond curls. 'Truth be known, Mat, I do not think I can do much for her.'

'Just try and get some more food down her, will you? She looks like a bloody waif.'

Cal tapped the sack before him with his toe. 'The grain is for stew, and she seems to have a small liking for Per's concoctions. I will get her to try some before dark.' His own stomach voiced a loud complaint at the thought of food. Cal realised that his tracking of Mai had caused him to miss an opportunity for breakfast. He retrieved a small russet apple from his pocket and gratefully crunched into its sweet flesh.

Mat glanced up at the sound. 'Got any more of those.'

'Sorry. Mai got this one from an obliging tree on our return.'

'Really? Per mentioned something about out fruit supplies running low.'

'I could go and get more, if you like.'

Mat tossed the stones into the air, deftly catching each in turn before they fell to the ground. 'Actually I could use a little jaunt myself. All this time doing nothing does not agree with me, it seems.' He rose, brushing grass and dust from his breeches. 'Where did you say Mai was?'

'I didn't. I asked _you _where she was.'

'No matter. She should not be too hard to find. Here.' Mat poured his handful of small stones into Cal's palm. 'Teach yourself a little useless talent to help you pass the time.'

'I think you have enough useless talents for all of us, Mat.'

Cal choked slightly on the impolite gesture he received from his departing leader.

* * *

The glare of the midday sun pierced his eyes and Mat pulled his hat lower to shield them from its glower. He had seen no sign of Mai, but the infirmaries seemed a good place to start his search in earnest. Surprisingly, there were no men sitting outside the tents, leading Mat to assume they must have been chivvied back into the tents for a respite period. He supposed it was a promising indication that Mai had been here recently.

Whilst wandering, he idly ruminated over what delicacies Per could conjure with a bounty of apples. He vaguely recalled some apple-laced drink he and Cal had encountered during an unfortunately prolonged stay at a tavern bearing the curious title of _The_ _Drum and Boar_. The inconspicuously mild concoction had wreaked horrible effects upon the pair, rendering them semi conscious for several hours. It was some time before they could reminisce over the experience without wincing, particularly after Cal confessed that it took him three days to regain full sight.

He was absently wondering whether Per could recreate the potent brew when the object of his search rounded a tent suddenly enough to walk directly into him. Mat smiled as steadied himself, but his playful reminder her that _he_ was supposed to be the clumsy one faded into startled silence as the girl muttered an sullen apology and walked directly past him.

Mat stared after her in consternation. There had not been even a flicker of recognition in her blue eyes at the sight of him. He watched her walk away, a small frown furrowing his brow.

It struck him that her steps were curiously measured and weary looking. Mai stumbled as though she did not have the strength to support her own meagre weight. His tongue stuck as he considered hailing her. She certainly did not appear to be in the mood for company. He dug a boot heel into the soft earth, dislodging a clump of scrub grass as he considered the situation. Perhaps she was going somewhere to rest. Given the weariness of her demeanour, it seemed the most likely option. Satisfied that he had deduced the reason for her curious behaviour, he turned to leave.

_What if she is sick?_

The thought faltered his step. She certainly looked unwell, what with her strange gait and sickly colour. After a moment hesitation he began to trail her. It was almost painful to watch the girl. Her head was bowed and her pace increasingly unsteady. Mat watched her approach the farthest tent and dazedly lift her head, almost as though she was surprised to arrive there. Her slight arm visibly trembled as she raised it before her to push at the tent opening. As Mai staggered into the tent, Mat hesitated once more at the idea of intruding upon her. It was likely that she was just preparing herself for much needed sleep. He really should leave her alone.

But something pricked at his mind, a sliver of unease that refused to succumb to his rationale. Sighing, he approached the tent. After all, Cal would never stop berating him if her knew Mat had seen her in such a state and not checked upon her.

Mai was standing at the end of the deserted tent, her head tilted back. Mat watched her raise a hand to place something upon her tongue.

'Mai?'

He had not expected such a vocal response.

The girl shrieked, a hard, violent sound that pierced the air. Mat instinct was to clamp his hands over his ears to block that terrible cry. Absently he saw a small container drop from her hand and jolt across the floor, rolling to a ponderous stop by his boot.

Mai clasped a hand over her mouth to stem the scream, cutting the sound as effectively as though she had been slapped.

Mat unclenched his fists, which were balled uselessly as though he intended to fight the very noise. It still hung in the air, a pall of fear that still shivered along his every nerve.

'Oh Light, Mai, I am so sorry.'

It was some time before she responded. Her eyes slid closed and her hand slowly drifted to her side. With a shaking sigh, she finally regarded him with deadened eyes.

'What is it with you and Cal, sneaking up on people?' she demanded in a flat voice. 'Is it some sort of game for you?'

'I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you.' He hesitantly retrieved the small phial from the floor. 'I thought that maybe you were unwell. I just wanted check if you needed any help.'

'I can do without your help,' she snapped. 'It evidently does more harm then good.'

Her anger relieved Mat. It was infinitely preferable to the look of stark fear that was thankfully now draining from her white face. He lifted his hands helplessly. 'I really am sorry Mai. I did not mean to frighten you.'

An uncomfortable silence descended, it's hollowness intensified by the sound that had so recently ravaged it.

'All right, kick me.'

Mai's gaze snapped to his face. 'What?'

'Go on. You have my permission to kick me.'

She glared at him through narrowed eyes. 'Why?'

'Because it will make me feel better.'

'Make _you_ feel better? Light, my heart is in my throat.'

'All the more reason to kick me, then.'

'I am not going to kick you.'

A grin crept onto his face. 'Why? Because you are halfway to forgiving me?'

'No, because then I would be subjecting everyone else to your complaining. It would not be fair.'

'I really am sorry, Mai.'

'So I gather.' She swept a pale hand across her eyes and sighed. 'It was not your fault. I am just a little tired, that is all.'

Her gaze dropped to the floor, and it took Mat a moment to realise that she was looking for something. He felt the cool presence of the small container in his hand. It had not been stoppered and some of its thick, amber liquid had seeped onto his palm.

'Here,' he murmured. Mai took the container from him with trembling fingers. 'What is it?'

She shrugged her shoulders. 'It helps prevent sickness. Sort of a tonic. What is it you wanted me for?'

'Oh, Cal mentioned that you found an apple tree. I thought that perhaps you could show me where it was. If you do not feel up to it...'

'No. A walk right now will probably do me some good.' She glided past him, all traces of weariness and fear now vanished. 'Shall we?'

He watched her walk into the sunlight, perturbed by her changeable manner. Eyes narrowed, he sucked the amber liquid from his palm and followed her from the tent.


	10. Chapter Nine

(A/N – Here's the next bit. Thanks to my top reviewers Alix, atitudegal11 and Pendrag. Your pearls of kindness really are most truly appreciated. Well, onwards once more. I hope you like chapters about apples. Yes - seriously.)

**Disclaimer** - I disclaim my tom-thievery.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Mat swatted at the bee hovering dangerously close to his nose.

'Why is this bloody thing attacking me? You are picking just as many apples as I am.'

Mai glanced at him as she plucked a rosy apple from a low branch and dropped it into the nearby sack. 'Perhaps it likes you.'

'Wonderful. Now I am being wooed by a bee.' Mat took another swipe at the irritating creature. 'No offence, little one, but you are really starting to bother me. I am giving serious though to crushing you under an apple.'

With a roll of her eyes, Mai plucked another apple from a nearby bough. Mat watched as she nipped at its sweet flesh and tossed the fruit onto the ground. After a few more moments of torment, the bee abandoned its vexing pastime and serenely wove its way the apple.

'There now. Do not try to fight it, Mat. Just give it what it wants.'

Mat snorted, shooting a venomous look at the creature happily meandering over its prize before turning his attention back to the tree.

Between them the industrious pair had managed to nearly empty the lower branches of all its fruit, although the sack was not yet half full. Squinting up at the tree, he could see tantalising glimpses of what looked to be a veritable harvest of the sought fruit. He supposed there was only one solution to the current problem.

'Haven't done this for a while.' he muttered, levering a sturdy looking branch to test its strength.

Satisfied, he hoisted his body onto the branch, using his legs against the trunk as leverage.

Mai's eyes were wide as she stared at him. 'What are you doing?'

'Getting more apples,' he grunted, wincing as a stray twig poked him in a particularly sensitive spot.

'Well stop it. I am not fixing your fool head if you break it. I mean it, Mat.'

He crouched on the conquered branch and grinned at her. 'Do not worry, I haven't fallen out of a tree since I was twelve.' He mused for a moment. 'Actually, that was the last time I ever climbed a tree. Oh well.'

His shrug almost set him off balance and he scrabbled at the trunk for a moment before righting himself and replacing his smile.

The girl continued to glare at him. 'Come down. I am not lugging you back to the camp if you fal...'

She broke off as an apple spun past her.

Mat's grin was now almost impossibly gleeful. 'Sorry. Could not resist.'

'Try'. The word had a strangled quality to it, as though it had emerged through clenched teeth.

Laughing, Mat hauled himself higher, dislodging brittle twigs and stray apples as he climbed. Mai watched him ascend, brushing the falling leaves from her face, until he had all but vanished into its depths.

'Have you found any more?' Her voice was slightly tentative. She had no desire to startle him into a fall.

'There are quite a few up here.' More rustling sounds. 'You had better stand back.'

Mat stepped back as the tree swayed slightly, thankful for his warning as she watched a glut of apples thud to the ground.

Mai could hear the sound of cheerful whistling, only slightly muffled by the foliage.

'Enjoying yourself?'

'Absolutely.' The tree quivered slightly as he came back into view. 'Want to try?'

'I don't think so.'

'Come on,' he urged, dropping to a lower bough. 'It really is bracing.'

'I am perfectly fine right here.'

He held his arm for her. 'There's a nice view.'

Mai shook her head, freeing tendrils of hair that swayed about her face.

'Very well.' He eyed her askance. 'I suppose, if you are afraid, then there's little to gain in forcing you.'

'Nice try, Mat.'

He gave an exaggerated sigh as he turned back to his conquest of the tree. 'I had better get back to work, then.'

'Wait.'

Mat turned to find the girl on tiptoe, arm extended towards the tree. Smiling, Mat enveloped her hand with his own. A shudder rippled from her body to his own.

'Cold? Well, your hands certainly are freezing.'

He hoisted her inelegantly onto the branch beside him.

'There, you see?' The branch swayed alarmingly as he bounced slightly. 'Perfectly safe.'

Her eyes gazed somewhat longingly at the ground. 'I suppose so. Where are you going?'

Mat paused. 'Higher, of course. You know, where the apples are?' He eyed her cloak critically. 'We really have to find something better than that. It's hardly good for climbing.'

She watched him disappear into the thinning canopy before returning her contemplation to the ground. Mai supposed she was pretty much stranded. There was little likelihood that she was going to leap to the ground unaided, and there was even less of a chance that she was going to follow Mat higher into the infernal tree. Swinging her feet slightly, she cursed softly at her predicament. But then there wasn't really much skill to it, she supposed. And the tree wasn't _that_ high.

After a moment's deliberation she grasped an overhanging branch and levered herself onto it. It did not take long for Mai to discover that was something wonderful in climbing trees after all. All around her, leaves and branches stirred in the breeze, causing them to whisper almost conspiratorially to one another in their soft, unknown language. The ground looked an almost fathomless distance away and seemed to swirl in an almost giddy fashion whenever she looked downward. Mai felt the stirrings of delight, a sensation now as unfamiliar to her as her current pastime. It felt glorious to let go of her demeanour, even just for this wonderful moment.

Mai was priding herself on her exhilarating achievement when her cloak managed to wrap itself around a jutting branch, forbidding her from climbing nearer to Mat's height.

'All right, this cloak _is_ useless,' she muttered, yanking at the offending garment. The treacherous hem refused to budge. 'Stupid thing.'

Having no choice but to remain on her present perch, Mai sat and surveyed her surroundings, her cheeks imbued with rare colour and tendrils of hair flipping playfully in the breeze. The view was not exactly breathtaking, but the golden sun had cast a pretty haze over the shallow valley that served as the camp's base and filtered through the ruddy leaves, making them almost ablaze with colour.

Mat watched her from above as he dropped apples to the ground. 'You are not bad for a first timer. You must have been a climber as a child.'

'I suppose so.' There was a curiously dubious note to her reply.

'That is quite unusual, really. Most of the girls where I cam from never climbed. Probably too worried they would muss their hair, or something.'

Mai's hand drifted self-consciously to her unkempt tresses. 'I do not suppose that is not a problem for me, at least.'

Encouraged by her smile, Mat continued. 'Where are you from, Mai?'

'I am not from Laybridge.'

Well, he knew that much.

'Then where?'

Mai was studying the dying leaf turning in her slender fingers, as though in wonder of its fragility. If their eyes had met then, Mat would have seen the unmistakable glisten of tears in her gaze.

'I do not remember.'

The bough beneath Mat chose that moment to give an ominous groan. Mat's eyes flickered the weakening branch, then back to Mai. Too late he pushed his legs in an effort to jump to another limb, only to vanish with the surrendering bough through the brittle canopy.

Mai sat with her hands clasped over her eyes, too afraid to acknowledge what had just happened. The brief scatter of noise had trailed into a worrying silence, unbroken save for the sighs of startled leaves and winter-weakened branches drifting from the thrumming tree.

Unbidden images of ghastly injuries suddenly clamoured for attention in her stunned mind. The first flutters of panic squirmed within her.

_Stop it! Go and see if he is all right!_

She lowered her hands and clenched her fists tightly. Hours later, she would wonder at the small crescents still ferociously branded in her palm, but for now she felt nothing of the vicious bite of nails into her flesh.

It was the yell of outrage that finally got her moving. With an agility she had not though herself to possess, Mai manoeuvred her way through the branches. She dimly heard the low snarl of something tearing as she leapt to the ground; her attention was focused only upon the very irritated Mat Cauthon sitting cross-legged beneath the tree.

'Oh, finally,' he snapped. 'Glad you decided to check I'm not dead.'

Mai swallowed past the drought in her throat. 'Are you hurt?'

'Look! The bloody thing bit me.'

Mai blinked at the finger Mat stabbed at her.

'Stung you,' she corrected, eyes straying to the apple close to Mat's uninjured hand. It was the one she had taken a bite from earlier. The small bee now squirmed feebly beneath it, legs picking uselessly at the air.

Mat nipped the sting with his teeth and spat it on the ground. 'You would think that it would be grateful to me.'

'For squashing it?'

He scowled. 'No, for not pitching an apple at it earlier.'

'Bees can be so inconsiderate.' Some rational part of her presumed her recent fright to be the source of such an inane comment, but the rest of her was too giddy with relief to care.

Mat gaped at her. 'You are mocking me? I just fell out of a tree, nearly broke my bloody head, landed on the one bloody apple with a flaming _bee_ on it, and you are having a bloody laugh at my expense?'

The girl bit back a smile. 'I am sorry, Mat.' She knelt beside him. 'Does it hurt very badly?'

Mollified, Mat nodded with mock solemnity. 'I do not think I can make it back to the camp. Go on without me.'

A smile finally blossomed on her face, a true smile in place of the quiet, contained expression she usually displayed. It suited her well.

'Do you think the men will take well to the notion that their exalted leader was conquered by a bee?'

Mat considered this for a moment. 'What if it was a very big bee?'

He watched her smile change, fade into an expression he couldn't fathom. 'You are not what I expected of a General.'

'Oh? Am I a disappointment, then?'

'A little.' Her head tilted as she appraised him. 'Perhaps if you grew a big moustache...'

Mat dignified that suggestion with a grunt. He stood hesitantly, checking for any aches that had not been there before. Mai watched him expectantly.

'Well? Anything excruciating yet?'

'Only this,' he declared with a scowl. The proffered finger was now slightly red and swollen looking.

'I am sure there will be something for it at the camp.'

Mai realised he was staring at her rather intently, and felt her cheeks instantly redden in response. She bent to gather fallen apples to over her blush. 'What?'

He gestured to the hem of her cloak. 'I suppose now we will have to find you something else to wear.'

Mai lifted her cloak slightly to discover that a large rent had been torn from it. The tree now proudly boasted a strip of black cloth as an adornment to its branches. She gave a muttered curse.

Mat made a tutting sound. 'Mai, your language is atrocious.' He laughed at her incredulous expression. 'Sorry. It is good to see you are picking up some unsavoury habits, that's all.'

'You can be very annoying at times.'

'So I have been told.'

There was silence for a moment as the pair gathered the fallen apples from the shaded grass beneath the tree.

'Mai?'

'Yes.'

'What were you saying before we were rudely interrupted?'

She hesitated before placing the last apple in the sack with its fallen brethren.

'I do not remember.'

His eyes were upon her again, narrowed and unreadable in the shade of his hat. 'No matter, I am sure it will come back to you.'

They headed to the camp, shadows trailing weakly in their wake.

* * *

Mat's eyes never strayed from the game before him. His hand hovered ponderously above the marked board, steadfast in its refusal to relinquish the final stone, and any chance at victory, without at least a show of some dignity. Cal watched him with an amused twist to his lips, obviously relishing the way he had outmanoeuvred his foe's attempts. 'Just place the stone, Mat. You cannot win.'

A noticeably lacklustre grin appeared on his combatant's face. 'I am considering my options.'

Cal's smirk broadened. 'I believe you are...' He swirled his hand through the blue tinged air, rippling the thick pipe smoke into almost mesmerising eddies. '...Delaying the inevitable?'

Refusing to rise to the bait, Mat shrugged, eyes still roving over the board with near desperation. 'Be nice. I've had a trying day.'

Cal's face affected an expression of deep concern. 'But of course. How is the finger?'

'Mai has decided it can be saved.' Mat spared a wistful glance at his bandaged digit. 'But it is a terrible distraction. Hardly surprising I have not my usual flair.'

'Very nice, Mat. You have successfully undermined my victory and excused your substandard performance. Congratulations. Now, will you put the bloody stone on the board?'

With an airily regretful sigh, Mat slowly lowered the counter to its fate. 'Courage, little stone.'

'Do not try to brazen it out, friend. I know you hate losing.'

Mat watched his opponent demolish his best efforts in silence, scowling darkly and clamping his teeth on his silver pipe stem ferociously enough to score the fine engraving.

The blond man eased back from the conquered board with an insufferably self-congratulatory sigh. 'Does success always smell this sweet?'

Mat exhaled a plume of smoke in his opponent's direction.

'Must you?' Cal rasped between coughs, waving furiously at the offending haze.

'Not really, no.' He began retrieving his traitorous stones from their final positions. 'Another game?'

Cal broke off a yawn to stare at him in mild surprise. 'It is past midnight.'

'It is?' Strangely, he did not feel in the slightest way ready for sleep. Cal, however, was fighting another wide yawn. 'Very well. I know when I am not wanted,' he declared in a slightly injured tone.

'Just thinking of your pride, Mat. I doubt another resounding defeat will enhance your current mood.'

'You're too kind.'

Cal grinned. 'One of us has to be.'

* * *

Mat trudged to his quarters in a somewhat subdued mood. The night air definitely lacked the biting chill that had been so tangibly present in previous evenings. In fact, the faint breeze felt deceptively mild as it drifted across the shallow camp. Mat doubted that the weather would turn so easily, certain that winter had a barb in its claw yet. Droplets of dew sparkled in the pale light as they spun from the disturbed grass, trembling upon and spotting his boots until they were near sodden with their mass. The moon was high and heavy in the obsidian sky, obscured slightly by scudding clouds lit silver by its ashen light. Truly, he had no idea it was so late. He should have been feeling at least some symptoms of weariness by now. It was not as though he was rising late from his blankets, although he regretted the current lack of opportunity for a little superfluous rest.

As he neared his tent, Mat identified the familiar gleam of Mai's candle glowing softly in the darkness. No doubt she was as awake as he, lost to her own unknowable musings. He thought it a pity that she was so obviously troubled. The girl could be decent company at times, and if she would only lessen her strange veneer of austerity more often he was certain she would be more bearable. Perhaps she was worried that Nath would return for her. Mat cursed his stupidity; of course that had to be the reason for her strange, defensive behaviour, and neither he nor Cal had offered any reassurance on that part. If he were to pay the man a visit, make him regret even thinking about coming back for her, then maybe that would lessen her anxiety. He supposed that it was the least he could do after all she had done to help them.

The moonlight struck the tent sides, casting them in eerie silver as he meandered through the deserted camp. The tent openings had been tethered wide to help air the interiors and their yawning emptiness filled him with a curious sense of unease.

He felt keenly the stillness of his surroundings. Even at the late hour, the barren air should have been heavy with fire smoke, the vacuous silence filled with the jeers and laughter of men exchanging boasts around small fires, or drinking and dicing in the ruddy glow of the larger tents. Mat felt like an intruder wandering through this wilderness of desertion, suddenly colder than the mild air could account for.

Mat quickened his pace, eager to reach his own familiar space, but found it as empty and unwelcoming as the rest of the camp. Pouring himself a warming cup of wine he settled himself on an earth-chilled cushion, feeling as though every fibre in his body was thrumming with useless verve and energy. It seemed last thing he needed now was sleep. He ground his pipe into the cold earth, sighing as the filaments of feebly glowing ashes slowly pulsed and flickered into nothingness. It was going to be a long night.


	11. Chapter Ten

(A/N – More glorious reviews. Thank you to Alix and Ravensong. You're thoroughly good eggs. Here we go, short and not so sweet...)

**Disclaimer** - You know the drill.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Mai's gaze followed the dance of the flickering light. A tear slid to catch in her hair. Despair. Always despair in these maddening hours. She turned a small, glass phial between her fingers, curved them around its reassuring familiarity. Spiked cramps of fear dug within her when she thought about what had happened but she refused to heed them. How could it matter that he had seen it? What difference did it make? All the same her hand closed protectively around the phial, as though seeking to preserve its secret.

She was becoming more and more entangled with these people. They were discovering things. Mai envisaged a shell around her, vulnerable yet protective, a veil of ice. It served to remind her that she was not the same as others, no matter how much she wished it. Oh the deceit pleased her at times, could sometimes even fool her into believing she were ordinary. A bitter smile played upon her mouth. The pretence was a cruelty, for when the moments of normality ended she felt the solitude all the more keenly.

It would be a torment to stay, a burr in her brittle shell. It would be the end of her.

She eased onto her side and unclenched her hand. The small phial glinted, the diminishing liquid within swaying softly. If she continued to draw as much of the tincture as she required then it would not last. But if she failed to use it...

Right now she would give her very all to awaken to the soft glow of morning.

Mai sat up, rubbing at the tears. Taunting herself was not going to help. Hunger pains gnawed through the fear. She had hardly eaten for days, could not recall a time when she had last craved food for the simple pleasure of eating. Mai reached for an apple from her nearby bag and paused when an unfamiliar streak of red caught her attention.

Mai narrowed her eyes. A hiss escaped her as bare feet met the cold ground and she shuddered as she slowly edged towards the strange object.

She stood above the curious thing, head tilted. Inexplicably, her hand trembled as she reached out. The thing felt cold and heavy in her grasp, as though some strange frost had touched and claimed it.

The red hair that had caught her gaze was bright against the shabby disrepair of its clothes. One green eye stared at her with a flat gaze. Its companion rested on a misshapen cheek, swaying on its stained thread. How long had this been here? Surely, she would have noticed it before. Perhaps one of the men had a little one. She clasped the strange doll to her before quickly jerking it away. A feeling of revulsion had slicked though her at such close contact with the thing. Chiding herself, Mai forced herself to smooth the rough wool that served as the plaything's hair.

'I suppose you think me a fool, little one.'

The doll simply stared with that single eye. In the dim light it seemed to almost wink at her.

_Starting at shadows…you are a fool, girl._

The cold of the frigid ground was seeping into her calves. She was moving to her blankets when the sound came.

It was furtive, scrabbling, as though some unknown being were scratching at the canvas of the tent. Mai bit at her bottom lip. A vole. At worst, a rat. Nothing more. And yet she shivered. Chiding thoughts did little to quell the deep thrum of unease.

She did not have to strain for the next sound. The cry of a child, that was all. She let out a sigh; one of the men _must_ have a youngling, and nearby.

_It is lost, that is all._

Mai crouched before the tent opening, began to fumble at the lacings with fingers still trembling with chill and an echo of dumb fear.

A small sob, soft and weak. Mai swore, fighting the laces until they came free to reveal the intruder.

It _was_ a child. A girl, her slight body hunched. Red hair obscured her face. Small shoulders hitched.

'Hello.' Mai's voice was soft and languid. A sense of release had fallen over her, soothing away her stupid fright. 'Have you lost something?'

The child stiffened, tips of her tangled hair trembling.

'Do not be frightened. I have your doll, it is not lost.'

Mai reached her hand to push the child's hair aside.

A small hand struck, entwined cold fingers with hers.

_I am sickening. I am weak from fever..._

Raw nails bit into her flesh. The girl raised her head, crimson hair spilled from her face like a bloody sluice.

A green eye met hers. Mai was not surprised that the other was not there, or that in its place should be a puckered hole. The child's lips stretched impossibly wide.

It's face closer now, closer still, a parody of a child imparting a secret to her dearest friend. A reek of decay. A mouth, toadstool cold and wet, moved against her ear.

_Remember._

* * *

Mai jolted upright, blankets crammed against her mouth to stifle the scream.

The candle had guttered. Wide gaze flitted in the darkness, desperately searching as she strained to hear in the silence. No scratching sounds, no cries.

Mai scrabbled frantically through her bedclothes for the small phial now missing from her hand, nearly cried with relief as her fingers met cool glass. Prying the cork from the small bottle she quickly placed a drop on her tongue, grateful for the bittersweet tang.

She carefully stoppered the bottle and placed it beneath her pillow before hooking her arms around her knees and clasping them to her shivering body.

It was losing its strength, she understood that now. Soon it would be gone. Lowering her head to trembling hands, Mai wept.


	12. Chapter Eleven

(A/N – As a sort of penance for the brevity of the last chapter I have made this current update almost unfeasibly long. Don't say I didn't warn you...

Virago – Hope you didn't get in trouble with the whole working thing, but I'm glad you skived to read my little tale and provide such a top review. As ever, it's greatly appreciated.)

**Disclaimer** - Disclaimerered

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Mat groaned. A sliver of light pierced his slitted eyes, forcing them closed. He swallowed a curse and tried again.

A worried face came into focus.

Mat groaned again. 'For the love of the Light, Per, what are you doing sneaking around my tent?'

'I was merely checking that you were well, My Lord. I thought that perhaps you were sickening.'

'Why would you think that? I am fine. A bit too much wine, perhaps.' Except there were no empty wineskins. No bloody wine, in fact.

'Master Cal mentioned that you were out of sorts last night, my Lord. And it_ is_ unusual for you to sleep until so late...'

'Late? I have slept late?'

'My Lord, it is long past midday.' Per stared at him. 'Are you sure you are quite well? Perhaps I should call Mai.'

'I feel absolutely fine.' Mat sat up quickly to send the point home. He was fine. Fine enough. 'Will you stop looking at me as though I'm about to keel over?'

In truth he did feel a little delicate. He resisted the urge to slump back on his pillows and supposed he had better visit Mai - just in case. The sluggish thought dredged the last time he had seen her, strange and strained and looking just about how he felt right now.

'My Lord, are you certain you do not wish me to summon Mai?'

'I'm fine.' Mat scooped his hat from the floor; at least he had the sense not to sleep in that as well. 'But I think I would like to have a word with our healer just the same.'

* * *

Mai rested her chin on her hands and shot a withering glance at the fellow so intent on talking her into a stupor. While the other men were basking in the warm sunlight, or resting in the cool shade of the tents, this one seemed determined to stay no more than two paces from her side. Mai had finally surrendered and settled onto a sunlit patch of grass, legs aching. Her pursuer had quickly joined her.

'So what do you think...Mai, was it?'

She had barely given a weary nod before the man hurried on.

'Should it be Brene or Suryana? As I said to Mat, it does not really matter which I choose. One woman is as good as another, as they say.'

Estean scratched at his unhealthy looking beard as he considered; the hiatus gave Mai the opportunity to idly wonder who exactly _they_ were. She supposed if she were not so exhausted, she would have been vaguely piqued.

'Taking a wife sounds frightfully grown up, doesn't it? But it is time I settled down. I shouldn't deprive the ladies of a man in his prime. They've always had an eye for me, you know? Who wouldn't for a young, eligible Lord like myself?'

He gave a snorting laugh at his wit. Mai gave another sigh.

'Of course, there are few noble women who would refuse me, but I'm sure a common wife would be more suitable to my tastes. Less stuffy, you know, more eager to please. Naturally, she would need attributes to compensate for her lack of breeding. Not just the usual things like cooking and such, but something of note as well. It would be good fortune to find a woman with a true skill. It would make married life far more interesting, yes? I have always thought a dancer would be an entertaining companion. Or maybe one of those Aiel women would be exciting, although they are a little on the savage side.'

A _what_ woman? Mai barely had time to ruminate before Estean hurried on.

'Perhaps it would be best to aim for something a little more practical.' With a rising sensation of alarm, Mai realised the man's oily gaze was gliding towards her.

She leapt to her feet quickly enough to make her head perform a giddy swirl. 'Estean, I think it is time you had some rest.'

The young Lord peered up at her. 'Why?' His voice had a whiney, demanding cast to it.

'Because that is what you need right now.' Light, how could she get rid of this one? 'Besides, too much sun can be dangerous for someone in your condition.'

A disbelieving appeared on the Estean's irritatingly conceited face. 'Oh? How so?'

Mai faltered a little, silently willing her beleaguered mind to rescue her. 'Pox.' The word practically leapt from her tongue. 'The sunlight can brings out boils of frightening proportions. They affect the face mostly. One poor fellow had one right there.' She directed a slim finger at Estean's less that delicate nose. He followed its progress until he became near cross-eyed. 'It scarred horribly of course.'

The smug expression slid from Estean's face, and a hand now hovered protectively over his protuberant nose. The man's vanity seemed grossly misplaced; he had a face like a sackful of wonky horseshoes.

'Yes, well, I suppose you have kept me a little too long.' Estean's gaze was accusatory as he hitched his blanket higher, as though considering whether to hoist it protectively over his head. Instead, he hugged it tightly against his shoulders and rose quickly. 'Right, time to be off. Shall I see you later?'

There was a hopeful note to his voice. Mai nodded, trying hard to keep reluctance from showing on her face, and watched with high relief as Estean finally scuttled towards the infirmary.

Mai took a deep breath. She didn't think she would appreciate being alone today. Evidently, she was wrong.

'That was nicely done.'

She turned to see Cal smiling at her. Despite her unexpected relief at the newly acquired solitude, Mai felt a small ember flicker within her.

'It was not very professional of me. And now there will be all sorts of rumours about some deadly pox flying around.' Mai flopped to the ground. 'I only just managed to offset the one about the flesh-eating slugs. Those leeches have a lot to answer for.'

Mai shifted a little as Cal lowered himself to the ground beside her, although the movement was unnecessary. Her companion kept a comfortable distance between them. Cal always seemed to know how to make her at ease.

'I shouldn't worry about it. Estean is very resilient.' There was a strained look to the smile he gave her, a subtle angularity to the usually easy curve of his lips. She silently added sound character judgement to her growing list of Cal's qualities.

They sat a while in companionable silence.

Despite the warmth of the day and the much-improved company, Mai felt thoroughly drained. The horror of the previous evening had finally dimmed with the sun's first rays, but that had been after many hours of raw panic. Now her head throbbed and her eyes felt swollen and heavy. Her only consolation was that she had kept wits enough to stifle the shriek that had tried to escape her. The last thing she had needed last night was a group of would-be rescuers charging into her tent. It was an uncharitable thought, she conceded, but any further excitement in her condition might have prompted a blathering tirade of what had so terrified her. She was certain the men thought her odd enough at present without hysterics to compound the general consensus that she was a few sprigs short of a full bale.

Mai raised her face to the clouds billowing across the sky. The daylight was always a wonder for her, although the unconscious measure of hours until dusk had already begun in her tired mind.

'You look exhausted.' Cal was plucking idly at the grass. 'Are you getting enough sleep?'

'I am always early to my blankets.'

She kept her gaze upon the blue sky, eyes studying the shapes of white vapours. A pristine cloud meandered above her, it's contours lending it the appearance of a galloping creature. The white peaks seemed to curve into the semblance of horns. For a moment, the cloud looked like nothing more than a charging bull, its broad back and twin horns shining. She watched the glowing vapour contort, meld into another shape, this one unrecognisable as anything familiar. Mai narrowed her eyes, and saw it slowly coalesce into the guise of some strange creature with a sinuous, rippling body before dissolving into tattered white streams.

'You, too?'

Mai broke her contemplation to stare at him. 'Sorry?'

He waved a vague gesture at the sky. 'Hopeless cloud-gazer. It made me a horribly clumsy child. My father was always reciting the story of Saal to try and get me to look where my feet where going.'

Mai glanced at him questioningly.

'You haven't heard that one? I thought every child in supposed danger of developing an imagination was taught it some time or another.'

'I do not remember it,' she murmured.

'Well, as I recall, Saal was a fellow who became convinced that he was the powerful man in existence. Like all the great lunatics of old he tried to defy nature, commanding the tide to turn, fires to rage, the earth to shake, that sort of thing. He failed at most of his attempts, but did manage to charm the winds and somehow persuade them to obey him. Saal found that he could change the shapes of the clouds. It was like an art for him, but he could never touch his creations and his joy quickly became his torment.'

Mai's jaws cracked in another wide yawn.

'I didn't think my storytelling was _that_ bad.'

'Sorry. Please continue.'

'Right, well, predictably poor Saal soon lost all reason and, in a fit of rage, used his power to rip the clouds from the sky and tear them into forms that would please him. The Creator blinded Saal for this sin and placed the clouds back where they belonged. But, as legend goes, the clouds sometimes remember the shapes that Saal once commanded them to take, and that's why they look like different things from time to time.' He paused. 'It's a bit of a silly story, actually. I should imagine its sole purpose was to deter hopeless daydreamers like myself.'

Mai frowned at the bitterness in his voice. 'Did it work?'

'Not particularly. In fact it only filled my head with lots of Saal-inspired stories - all startlingly unoriginal, of course.'

Mai again lifted her gaze to the cloud, which had now shaped itself into something like a loping fox, long tail trailing behind it like a banner. 'I do not remember reading that story. It has been a long time since I read anything.'

Cal frowned at the regretful note in her voice. 'You like to read?'

A smile came to her lips as she nodded.

Cal rose quickly to his feet and motioned for her to do the same.

'Where are we going?'

Cal merely shook his head as he backed away from her. 'Follow me and you'll find out.'

Mai had to run slightly to catch up with him, no easy feat in a cloak that seemed determined to trip her.

As she crested a small rise, Mai saw Cal had stopped.

He did not turn as she approached, or even acknowledge her arrival. He seemed to be very much involved in staring at something.

She watched him for a small while, perplexed. Cal's face was in shadow, save for where the sun had etched his profile in gold, and eerily expressionless. There was still no hint of any recognition of her arrival. Unease prickled. Mai would have reasoned that the man were trying to goose her, but that was not the sort of thing she thought Cal would do. Curiously, it appeared to be the tent before him that had snared his attention so completely. She moved carefully beside him and the angle soon revealed to her what he was studying.

An unfamiliar symbol was scrawled upon the tent, blazing starkly against the light canvas. Rivulets of red had run from the taut fabric onto the grass below. The strange marking reminded Mai of a hook.

Cal moved suddenly to shield her view. Her unease was so great that she physically started when he eventually broke the silence.

'Mai, Could you leave me alone for a moment?'

'Why?' She glanced at the stained tent. 'Is that one yours?'

'It will not take me long to clean up. Please just go.' The words were emotionless, so unlike the usual warmth of his well-mannered speech.

A whip of hair clung to her face. She swept at it awkwardly. 'I'll leave you to it, then.'

She received no response. Mai turned and headed reluctantly back to the infirmaries. She shivered into gooseflesh as a shadow passed above. Glancing up, Mai saw that the offending cloud was wide and sprawling. She was uncomfortably reminded of the strange crow that had watched her with glinting eyes, bloody carrion hooked under-claw.

She turned to Cal, as though for comfort, but the man was still staring at the tent. He hand't even moved. She made her decision and strode back to him.

'Here.' Mai knelt and began tugging at the knots. 'Help me with these.'

Cal stared before eventually moving into an awkward crouch, his fingers moving on the rope with slow yet methodical care.

They worked in silence, and it took them the better part of an hour before the tent was at last listing to the ground.

When it was done the pair stood in silence over the remains, now nothing more that a wan spill of red-stained material on the grass.

The high colour had left Cal's cheeks.

'The men probably thought it entertaining to play a prank on me,' he said. Then, seemingly realising he was being studied, 'Sorry it took me off guard. Still not used to this whole initiation into camaraderie nonsense.'

'Are they always this childish?'

He smiled and and suddenly looked like Cal again. 'That was actually almost mature for their standards.'

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments, then Cal dug an apple out of coat and offered it to her suddenly.

'Here. I think we shall be rolling in apples for some time after the bounty you and Mat collected.'

'I don't think I can stomach another apple for as long as I live.'

There was another awkward pause. 'I am sorry, Mai. For troubling you, I mean. I was acting like some sulky child.'

Suddenly he was quite a bit closer and taking her hand and, oh, as if she were not blushing enough already, planting a small kiss on it.

He was still staring earnestly at her as he stepped back. She busied herself brushing flecks of imaginary dust from her cloak.

'We really should find you something else to wear,' Cal announced, seemingly noticing the rent in the garment's hem.

'Perhaps.' She tried sounding non-committal instead of rude, but she was comfortable being hidden in its depths. Besides, what else was there to wear? Trousers? She almost choked at the thought.

'I'll try and dig something out for you.'

Mai was about to give dubious thanks when she heard a voice hailing her. Mat was striding towards them. Mai felt her cheeks redden anew; the thought of a witness to Cal bent over her hand was doubly mortifying.

'Mai. Can I have a word?'

'Just the one?' Cal quipped, grinning.

Mat's expression did not soften from that strangely rigid smile. 'Very funny. Well? Mai?'

Cal stayed on the small hill, absently lifted the apple to his mouth and took a deep bite. His narrowed gaze never left the departing pair.

* * *

The girl looked tired. Mat did not lessen his pace, however. As far as he was concerned, the girl's current state was no-one's fault but her own.

Mai held one hand level with her brow to shield the glare of the lowering sun, while the other grasped the front of her ragged cloak in an effort to keep from tripping. It was clear that she was struggling, but Mat wanted to be far from prying ears. He wondered if she had told Cal something. They had certainly seemed deep in conversation.

He stopped so abruptly that Mai faltered on a few paces before realising she was alone. She turned so Mat saw her face fully in the dimming light. She was pale, bluish veins visible beneath her red-rimmed eyes. She looked wretched yet composed, face politely enquiring yet so infuriatingly guarded.

'Is something wrong?'

'I suppose there is.' The terseness of his voice obviously surprised her; her polite facade slipped into a frown. 'I need to discuss a small matter with you.'

'Oh.' She grasped a clutch of black cloak then smoothed the creases. 'Well, if there is any way I can help...'

'You look tired,' he stated, keeping his voice level as possible. 'Hardly surprising really. Tell me, Mai, why do you not sleep?'

He had expected a reaction of some kind. Perhaps surprise at being found out, or a flush of guilt at harbouring such a strange secret. Instead he was met with calm. The girl had all the coolness of those bloody Aes Sedai. Time to try a different tack.

'That little glass container you have. It seems very dear to you.'

The girl's hand strayed to her sleeve before jerking back to her side. He revised his opinion a little; the girl was not so calm after all. And if he could prick an Aes Sedai's cool exterior then he could certainly rattle some village girl with a guilty secret.

'I fail to see how that has anything...'

'Yesterday, I picked up that little bottle. You might not remember, I believe you were shrieking at the time.' He felt a stab of satisfaction at her flush. No, it would not be so difficult after all. 'Some of what was inside leaked onto my hand.' He leaned closer. 'That little drop was enough to keep me awake all night.'

The colour had drained from her face. 'What is it you are trying to accuse me of?'

'You're using that...whatever it is...to keep you awake. Which brings me back to my first question - why do you never sleep?'

'That is no one's business but mine,' she snapped, turning away.

'No it isn't.' His stride easily caught up with her. 'But whether you're a danger to me and my men bloody well is.'

She stopped, eyes wide. 'What do you think I am?'

'I don't know, why don't you tell me.'

'Because it is of no consequence to you. I am healing your men, isn't that what I am here for?'

'If you are poisoning yourself, what's to stop you harming others?'

'I would _never_ hurt them.'

Her shocked face was as effective as a slap. Mat rubbed his eyes so he would not have to see her dismay. 'I am not accusing you. I'm not. But if you are always on the edge of fainting what's to say you won't make mistakes? Yesterday, before you drank from that thing, you were asleep on your bloody feet.'

'I am aware of my limitations.' She had regained a little composure, although her hands had again taken to grasping clutches of her cloak.

'Why are you doing this?'

'It is is not something I wish to discuss. We all have our secrets, Mat.'

'Are yours dangerous?'

Her eyes flickered deliberately to the scar on his throat. 'Are yours?'

He stepped back, fingers itching to right the necktie. The girl was good, he'd give her that much. 'All right,' he murmured. Then, a trifle sneakily, 'I only wanted to help.'

Her shoulders sagged, resolve finally weakening. 'I am not a danger to you. You have to believe that.' Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

'And you can't go on like this.'

'I must.' The words were low, as though she had not intended to breathe them at all.

'Come on.' He extended an arm and urged her into a walk. 'I suppose you have your reasons.' He cleared his throat. 'Light knows, don't we all. If you ever you want to talk...' Easy now; he didn't want to be her confidante. '...Or anything...' He had never been any good in these situations. 'There's Cal. Or me, or something.' He winced. Where was Perrin when you needed the gentle touch?

'Thank you.'

'Right.' He clapped his hands together, glad to put an end to the situation. 'I suppose we'd better get back then.'

But the girl was already somewhere else; he followed her gaze to the cloud hanging low above. Its shape almost like that of a a huge black bird. Light, he was getting as dewy as Cal. 'Come on, Mai. It's getting dark.'

With a final glance upward, Mai drew her cloak tighter around her body and followed Mat to the camp.

* * *

Mai did not look up when the fire announced Cal's arrival with a swirl of embers. Wincing, she stitched a little more quickly, nearly piercing the pad of her finger.

What eventually disturbed her from her overly attentive repairing of her cloak's hem was the small bundle that appeared at her feet. She glanced up at Cal's easy smile.

Despite herself, Mai smiled back. 'What is it?'

'The quickest way to find out would be to open it.'

Mai picked up the package; it was folded in undyed cloth and boasted a sloppily tied rag-ribbon.

'You don't like my handiwork?'

'It's pretty.'

'Sarcasm's the most offensive form of wit, you know.'

Mai folded back the cloth. Beneath the thin layer of covering was a huddle of fabric which she picked up and held before her.

Mat, who had been watching the curious exchange with thinly veiled amusement, snorted. 'Very nice - no need to ride side-saddle in those.'

Mai folded the breeches back into the parcel. The second item - a blue tunic - was met with equally dubious enthusiasm. 'Cal,' she said carefully. 'These aren't women's clothes.'

'Sorry about that. Smallest clothes I could find were in the apprentice chest. Don't worry; the previous owner outgrew them.'

Mai was unenthusiastically refolding the garments when she realised there was something else in the soft parcel. Her exploring fingers revealed smooth leather.

'You said it's been a while since you read anything.' Cal's voice was soft and tentative, as though he expected her to be as unimpressed with this offering as the clothes.

She ran her fingers over the book's face, firelight giving away the tears in her eyes. 'Thank you.'

Mat stared at the two of them. 'Well, what is it?' Neither responded, so he craned a look at the book cradled in Mai's lap. 'Not bad. Mind if I have a borrow of that?'

Cal frowned at him. 'You've already read it twice since we've camped here.'

'I read lots of flaming books,' he said defensively. 'This one just happens to be my favourite.'

'I though _Jain Farstrider_ was your favourite.'

'Never mind,' Mat muttered.

'It's the story of Saal,' said Mai in a soft voice, turning the pages gently.

'Not just Saal,' Cal assured. 'There are others. It's sort of a collection of stories.'

Her fingers traced the book cover once again as she smiled softly. 'Thank you.'

A wood knot chose that precise instant to explode in the campfire. Mat, who was midway through a dramatic eye-roll, blurted a startled oath.

Mai looked at him curiously. 'Would you like me to prepare some tea for your nerves?'

'Funny. Very funny.' He stood, yawned, stretched. 'Well, if you two are quite happy to sit here cooing over some book, be my guests. I'm off to bed.'

Cal's eyebrows quirked in surprise. 'It's a little early for you, isn't it?'

'I didn't get much sleep last night.' The statement emerged more harshly than intended, and he shot a guilty look at Mai. 'Not that it is a problem, of course,' he added too loudly. 'Plenty of time to catch up on some shut-eye.'

Mai tilted her head towards him a little, just enough to show her grateful smile.

He gave a small yet suitably grave bow in acknowledgement, pleased with his ability to make any situation better and grateful for an escape from any further discussion of books.


	13. Chapter Twelve

(A/N – Gosh, Virago. Where would I be without your kind encouragement? Not writing this fic. anymore, most likely. You're right about the whole love triangle thing, which is rather odd, as I never intended the story to develop in that way. I'm going to try and reign in that aspect of the story as I don't write romance at all well, and it would be very OOC for one of the characters in this little tale (I'm sure you can guess which one I mean!). Also, heartfelt thanks to newest recruit CKK for the high praise. Hope you got the homework done ;)

B*gger, now I'm not only writing painfully long fics. but overdrawn author notes as well. Anyway, thanks for the feedback, and hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer** - Yup.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Grassland swayed about her as she stood beneath the budding tree, eyes fixed upon the muted haze in the distance. This was the closest she had allowed herself to come near the place, near the town in which she had spent the last few grim years. Mai huddled a small bundle to her chest, relishing the smooth swell of contentment the contact yielded, her body warming the clothes nestled within the soft cloth.

She would never have to go back there, never have to face Nath and his heavy, stern fists again, never have to endure the hiss of bitter whispers or the bite of stinging stares. Her seemingly endless days of mixing herbs and preparing poultices for thankless tormentors were over, although she could barely bring her self to finally believe it. The breeze stirred the branches above her, swaying the dark boughs now studded with snug buds. The air felt alive with promise, as though it were waiting, silently anticipating things to come. Mai could feel the same quickening within her. Her position had never been so precarious, but she had never felt so at peace. There was safety here, and people who actually seemed to consider her well-being. She smiled to herself as she continued to study the shadow of the small town she had never called home, wondering at how quickly things had changed.

As her lidded gaze wandered from the place she caught sight of movement, and her widening eyes flickered to light upon two mounted figures passing in the distance, their horse's hooves stirring puffs of dust into the soft air. They appeared to be men, curiously garbed and astride horses that trotted imperiously on long, sleek legs. She fought the sudden urge to hide herself behind the broad tree as one of them turned to gaze in her direction, forced her legs to stiffen against the foolish impulse. She had promised herself there would be no more hiding.

The man turned to his companion, who soon joined him in contemplation of her. Emboldened, Mai raised her hand, palm facing the pair of strangers in a gesture of open greeting. Neither responded. Their mute faces gazed at her, blank and unreadable, but she still felt the sharp appraisal of their eyes. She lowered her hand, trying with difficulty to bolster herself against the small withering of rejection.

As one, the men nudged their horses into an easy canter and headed for the village, their white cloaks gleaming in the sunlight. She did not know why they were dressed so similarly, or what the curious symbol on the back of their cloaks could mean, nor did she care enough than to dwell on it for the briefest moment. Mai watched the riders dwindle to specks as they neared the town of Laybridge, cloaks now nothing more than moth flutters of white. As though to soothe the small hurt of the riders dismissal, she reached for the glass phial concealed in her sleeve hem, caught a drop of its contents on her tongue.

_I am done with them all._

The words were unbidden, and almost painfully bright in their stark clarity. Of course she was done with them, whoever _they_ were. After all, she would never have to go back to the forsaken place. The phial was nearly empty, but the daylight afforded her enough bravado to convince herself it did not matter. Everything would be better now.

_I am half-sick of shadows._

The strange words echoed in her mind, but she paid them no heed. Everything would be better now, that was the only thought she needed to cling to.

Everything would be well.

* * *

Cal stared at the patch of grass, frowning at its sickly yellow hue so conspicuous against the surrounding green. A small heap of cold, grey dust was all that remained of his tent now, and only a sun-starved circle yielded any indication that it was once pitched there. Cal sighed as he broke his gaze and kicked at a nearby mound of ashes, stirring drab motes of white and grey into the bright air.

He had taken pains to rid any traces of red from the sullied grass, had hastily ripped or stamped the crimson stains from the ground, but his eyes still strained for any tell tale signs of the hateful colour.

Cal tried to focus his attention to the task at hand, which was currently involved in moving his belongings into new quarters. So far he had managed to heft his blankets into a free tent, upon which a mound of books and a stray boot now forlornly sat, but the rest of his worldly possessions still lay strewn upon the grass. He realised he should move quickly, but the vacant patch was like some great glaring eye, threatening to lure him unto unwelcome contemplation once more.

He swept a sobering hand across his brow before bending to grasp the worn handle of a nearby case. He dragged it towards the tent, careless of its worn obvious worth. Sunlight glinted off its tarnished surface, spun small speckles onto his face and, as though captivated, Cal paused to stare at the casket. The growing realisation of what he held prompted him to suddenly relinquish his grip, and the sound of the chest's weight meeting the ground caused a dolorous knell to sound in the air, too loud in the silence. Cal hesitated before resuming his efforts, reluctant to touch the neglected case. Chiding himself for being so easily distracted, he resolved himself into lifting it once more. It was not long, however, before Cal he found himself again caught by the caskets forgotten intricacy, and was surprised to find that he was still so affected by its beauty. He had not uncovered it for some time, usually leaving it crouched in a corner beneath a ragged drape, hunched like some neglected creature. But he was always aware of its presence, of its responsibility. He should have abandoned it a long time ago.

Cal crouched carefully before the chest, fingers tracing the fine etching on its domed lid. It was tarnished, and a thin layer of grease coated his skin as his touch glided along the cool surface. The contact made his flesh feel tainted with something greater than mere physical grime.

His fingers edged closer to the heavy clasps that sealed the case, fingers prying tentatively at the hooked edges before resolving into a push. The latches sprang open with a sharp, metallic snap. Without attempting to raise the lid, he moved his hand over the case, slid his palm down its embossed side.

Cal's hand moved there, as though caressing its sinuous, lilting pattern. His fingers paused for a moment before pressing a small, inconspicuous stud hidden amongst the complex swirls of fashioned metal. There was a series of low clacking sounds, and Cal nodded, lips pursed until they were near bloodless. With a brief glance over his shoulder, he lifted the heavy lid, every muscle in his body tensed as though in readiness for escape.

Neglect had not dimmed its radiance; the thing shone as though it had been carefully brushed in readiness for wear. He gazed at it for a moment, shocked by its brilliance, before sweeping the pristine garment aside.

Beneath it lay the object he had once treasured above all, nestled on its cushion of red velvet. It still thrilled him, this forbidden possession. He curved his fingers beneath it, hands almost cradling as he lifted it into the light. Like the cloak, it defied its containment, shone as though it had been polished in preparation for his touch. Cal could not bring himself to discard or sell it, no matter how much his mind screamed at him to hurl the blighted thing back into its prison and foist it upon the next merchant he saw.

Its gold and silver worked curves and gentle swells belied its strength. It did not require needle fashioned points, spines or hooks to display its deadliness, had no need for any barbarous adornment. Those unfortunate enough to encounter such a weapon knew how devastating it could be. For this reason, its maker had instead imbued it with all the beauty and workmanship he could master. It was both beautiful and terrible, a glorious perversion. Once, he had been honourable enough to carry such a wonderful creation. To wield it now would be a betrayal. Cal slowly lowered the crossbow into its case, hating the low snarl of regret within him, and covered it once more with the white cloak.

He was reluctantly lowering the lid when he heard a sound behind him. Cal slid his eyes closed as the spring casing clasped into position, his heart still thudding from his recent thrill. Rising slowly to his feet, he opened his eyes, and turned to face his witness.

The man stood watching him, eyes bright with what the unenlightened would mistake for bright amusement, but which Cal instantly recognised as the idiot gleam of a zealot.

The pair regarded one another in silence before the newcomer raised his fist to his heart in awed salute. 'May the Light guide and shield you.' The small smile never touched his blazing eyes as he straightened from his low bow. 'Captain Delloraine, Sir, it is very good to see you.'

* * *

Mat did not raise his eyes from his contemplation of the Ruler of Flames. It was not the most interesting of things to fixate upon, but studying its painted surface did carry the small advantage of distracting him from Estean. No doubt the man was just blathering for the pleasure of hearing his own voice. As he glared at the lacquered card, Mat realised that he still harboured a keen distaste for the image, despite its innocuous appearance. His eyes continually strayed to the small flame balanced on the Amyrlin's hand as though expecting to see something else held in that tiny palm. He scowled. There was no bloody dagger there, just a stylised curve of fire.

A sharp nudge nearly made him splay his cards across the makeshift table. He turned his glower on his companion. 'What?'

Estean rolled his eyes. 'I asked you a question, Mat, and you ignored me.'

'I was not bloody ignoring you. I was concentrating on the game.'

His companion eyed him with a suspicious gaze. 'Perhaps. Or perhaps you have been spending too much time with that _Cal _person.' Estean's lips gave a spiteful twitch. 'What was his title again?'

'As far as I am aware, he does not hold one.' Mat grimaced. He knew what was coming next.

'Oh, yes.' Estean's tone was vindicated. 'I remember now.' He leaned closer, allowing Mat a prime view of the man's current hand. There was a goodly amount of silver on the table, and a few glints of gold too. The man would have to be a fool not to fold with those cards, but giving in was not for Estean. Mat could not decide whether the fellow was too mule-headed or too stupid to quit while he had the chance. He was beginning to suspect it was a mixture of both.

Unconcerned by the deepening frown on his opponent's face, Estean ploughed into his tirade. 'That one is the sort who sneers at us noble-born when our backs are turned, the growing breed of commoner with the notion that he is somehow above us. What could put such foolish imaginings into a simple man's head?' His voice was genuinely wondering. 'But his type are becoming more commonplace, Mat, like some sort of plague. Like sun-addled dogs, they would bite the hand that aids them. We must be vigilant against these people, teach them their rightful place.'

Mat had heard this speech, or several very much like it, more times than he cared to recall. The bluster usually occurred when Estean was deeper in his cups than he was at the moment, but the young Lord seemed to be getting more fervent in his strange notions. Humouring him, no matter how much it gnawed at his innards, was always the best way to deal with the rantings. 'Absolutely.' He ground his teeth almost to the point of pain. 'We higher folk must strive to keep the commoners in their rightful place.'

Estean's head bobbed so furiously it looked in danger of toppling off. 'You and I have always seen eye-to-eye, Mat, but then all nobles are cut from the same cloth. The finest cloth, of course.'

There it was, that braying excuse for a laugh. Mat took a swallow of wine to hide his sneer. He had only wandered to the infirmary to check that Estean was recovering well. In the brief interlude between meetings, he had forgotten just how irritating the man was. Unfortunately, Estean has transpired to be healthy enough to rope Mat into a less than enjoyable round of cards, a lacklustre effort worsened by a lack of decent players. The now absent third participant, a worryingly young man with little more than a scuff of downy beard, had politely declined any further games following the first defeat. There had been an irritatingly unguarded expression of awe on the boy's youthful face when he realised exactly who he was playing against. It seemed that the glory of Lord General Mat Cauthon's name had not yet been sullied. He swigged from a nearby bottle of wine. The sooner that bloody nonsense ended, the better.

Their other companion had yielded as a result of his present state of health rather than a bad case of wondering admiration.

The fellow's snuffling snores were an unpleasant accompaniment to Estean's witterings. The unhealthy sounds were the only indication that the man was still breathing, and Mat felt continually obliged to glance at him to check that he has not slid into something more worrying that sleep. He certainly seemed to be less advanced in his recovery than Estean, as did most of the rest of his men. Not that he wished ill health on Estean. Well, nothing serious anyway.

Mat plucked a card from his hand and rearranged its position in the fan. It served no purpose whatsoever, but he enjoyed the nervous tic that suddenly appeared in Estean's cheek. Only now did the man seem to realise just how much of his money lay on the table. He eyed the coin longingly before continuing. 'I suppose that Cal fellow is with Mai. They seem to be spending a lot of time together.'

On this rare occasion, Mat agreed with Estean. The pair certainly did seem to appreciate one another's company, almost to the exclusion of others. He gave no indication of his concurrence, however. The man was insufferable enough as it was without the need for any encouragement.

Estean, however, appeared to be waiting for a response. When none came, he cast a hesitant glance at his companion. 'She seems like a nice girl. A little quiet, perhaps, but pleasant enough. It is a shame that she is such a plain one, but perhaps that not such a bad thing. Father always said it was best to marry the less favourable girls. They are always much more grateful than the pretty ones. She is common-born, of course, but I have put aside any childish notions of marrying into blood.'

'Stay away from her.' The command was soft, but Estean stared as though Mat had snarled the words.

'What?' The man sounded perplexed and almost hurt.

'I said stay away from her. The girl has more than enough on her mind, without the need to worry about avoiding an admirer.'

Estean had drawn back his shoulders, chest puffed with indignanation. 'And what makes you so sure she would avoid my advances?'

Mat lifted the Ruler of Winds to slide beside the Ruler of Flames, a High Lord in curiously unfamiliar garb. 'Because she is not ready for that sort of thing.' Frowning, he raised the chalice wielding Knave of Cups and placed him next to the Ruler of Coins. 'And I would not have her upset over some trifling romance.' Not that the girl would be interested in Estean, he was sure. Mai would have better judgement than that. 'Believe me, Estean, I promise I will make life very unhappy for the person who decides to upset that girl.' He studied the hand before him, satisfied that the Ruler of Winds was now safe between the grave High Lord and smiling knave. A winning hand indeed.

Splaying the polished cards on the table, Mat gazed at his mute opponent, lips stretched in an almost vulpine grin. 'And I always keep my promises.'

* * *

Mai unwound the tight bandages, letting them trail to the floor to lie like pennants at her bare feet. She took a deep sigh, grateful for the way the breath eased into her without constriction. The simple pleasure caused a brief swell of contentment, until the consciousness of her nudity struck her. Her sharp panic eased a little when she remembered that Per had rather vehemently promised that no one would near the tents until she emerged from her bath. Mai was grateful to the little man. He had shown her nothing but kindness since her arrival, although his awkward formality could be a little intrusive at times.

Steam eddied lazily about the tent, and grey sheets lay draped on drooping lines strung haphazardly about the spacious area. The large barrels that served as bathing tubs were generously filled with clear water, and she gazed at them longingly. Arms wrapped tightly about her, Mai approached the nearest tub, noting with approval that the surface danced cheerily with swirls of silvery steam. It looked ridiculously inviting. She raised a tentative foot to the water before plunging her leg into its depths. Ignoring the almost painful heat, she quickly lowered herself into the tub. Her pale skin flushed pink almost immediately, but there was a cleansing quality to the heat that felt even more purifying than the water. This was to be a ritual of renewal, a scouring of all the accumulated dirt that clung to her, both externally and symbolically. This was the beginning of her new start.

The steam eddied about her, falling to her hair and face, forming soft droplets. She felt the tense muscles relax in her neck and heavy limbs, sighed as the comforting weight of the water swirled gently against her fading bruises, easing their rawness.

She lowered her hair into the water, smiled at the sound of water cascading from its length when she raised herself. Per had given her some kind of soap to use. It was an unappealing dark green colour and was not particularly feminine in its fragrance. Mai was a little disappointed. She had clear memories of the wealthier village women talking of a particular soap that scented their pampered skin of flowers, a pleasant fragrance that lingered prettily in the air even after they had departed. Mai had always hoped to try the mysterious lather, although there had been little chance of that living with Nath. But the curious soap she held did yield a faint aroma of fresh, clean herbs, which she found appealing. In fact, it was very reminiscent of the scent that had brushed her when Cal had kissed her hand. With a small smile, she decided that it was a pleasant fragrance after all.

She rubbed the cake of soap between her hands, worked it into a lather that she quickly ran over her hair. Mai winced as her fingers encountered matted snarls that clung to her fingers and pulled at her scalp. Why had she neglected herself so? It took a great deal of untangling, and a few quiet curses, before her fingers could run easily through her hair, and the water now swirled with knotted lengths of her brown locks. She picked at them with distaste, draping them over the edge of the tub so they would not tangle around her any further. She attacked her hair once more with the soap before moving onto her body. Mai had not realised how thin she had become, and felt a little perturbed by the bones that clearly protruded against her wan flesh. She resolved to nurture her appetite, and to eat as much Per's stews and concoctions as possible, providing there were no apples involved in their preparation.

With a sigh, Mai settled deeper into the comfortably warm water, face flushed with heat, hands draped limply over the sides of the tub.

A soft rustle at the entrance of the tent caused her to gasp. She lay still a moment, eyes unblinking, taking care not to stir the water. Silence. Probably just the wind worrying the tent. She draped a forearm over her eyes, trying to relax.

After an almost indecently long time, she finally resolved to leave the bath, her fogged mind reminding her that she would shrivel to nothing if she remained immersed for much longer. With a regretful sigh she raised herself a little, blinking as the light filled her eyes. She frowned as a limp towel stirred in the muggy air, as though it had been touched by something more substantial that the shroud of mist than surrounded it. With rising alarm, Mai saw the pale blur of a shadow slide beyond the whiteness of the sheet. Gasping, she heaved upright, the sound of the water sluicing from her deafening in the silence. The slow shadow halted, as though hesitant. Mai was breathing hard. Perhaps the person didn't realise it was she who occupied the tent, although some rational part of her mind chided the fool for attempting to bathe so recently after an illness.

The shadow moved again, grew steadily darker against the spectral opacity of the sheet. The intruder was getting closer. She had enough time to see a man's hand curve around the edge of the white cloth before panic overwhelmned her. She sank beneath the water, heart beating hard. Per had promised he would not let anyone into the tent. Where under the Light _was_ he? Mai opened her eyes to the sting of soapy water. Now what was she to do? Why hadn't she just told the man to leave when she had the chance? The growing pain in her eyes caused her to whine a garbled cry, and water instantly flooded her nose and mouth, burning her throat. She tried to open her eyes once more, and caught a fleeting sight of a silhouette above the surface of the water. She squeezed her eyelids tightly shut against the maddening hurt. The flaming man was above her.

Her chest was burning now, the exhausted air rasping in her breast. She couldn't stay beneath the water for much longer. Anger burned amongst the pain. She would have to face whoever it was, decency be blighted. Mai burst upward, spraying water as she winced against the fever in her eyes. She could sense the shadow of a figure above her.

Knuckling her eyes, Mai peered at the intruder. She lowered herself deeper into the water, hoping that the scant froth of soap would be concealing enough. The man stared at her, his eyes blank and unwavering.

She swallowed. 'As you can see, I am not prepared for visitors.' Her voice wavered, making her sound uncertain. 'Please leave.' The command emerged as a strangled croak.

The man did not respond, merely continued to stare at her with those strange eyes. She swallowed again, willing strength back into her voice. 'If you do not leave immediately, I shall scream for someone to escort you from here.' Her growing anger fuelled her threat. How had the man got past Per? He had _promised_ to guard the tent.

Nothing except that blank, unwavering gaze. She was drawing a deep breath in readiness for a suitably loud scream when the man's lips begin to move. Her breath guttered to a stop as she strained to hear him, thinking that perhaps her ears were clogged with water. The words failed to reach her. But she could the gentle lapping of the water on the wooden sides of the tub, caught the distant piercing cry of a Larksedge. The man continued to mouth his voiceless words, his pained expression now increasingly imploring.

Her flesh prickled in rebellion of the stiflingly hot water. The began to bend over her, his efforts to speak laboured now. Mai felt tears of fear and shame slide down her wet face. They felt hot enough to brand her flesh. The man drew ever closer, his eyes seemingly fixed upon her tears. His gaze had lost their vacant glaze as he watched her cry, an almost sorrowful expression softened his face as he followed the journey of her tears, watched with avid fascination as they trickled through the other rivulets of water. She frowned as his large, mournful eyes seem to darken somehow, as though welling with some strange shadow. Mai shuddered at the sight, and the man smiled sadly, as though in reassurance. The movement caused the flesh around his eyes to crease, forced the curious darkness to swell and trickle slowly onto his face.

Mai watched the ruby tear course stealthily down his pallid skin, leaving a ribbon of crimson on a sallow cheek. The dark droplet trembled on his flesh before merging with the water, blooming and disintegrating like a fading nightflower.

She couldn't move. Another crimson tear fell, caught on her lip where it burned with the fierceness of ice. The man leaned closer, an expression of almost unbearable pain upon his pale face. His lips were almost upon hers when the cold hand found her slender neck, encircling and squeezing with exquisite slowness, as the sweet tang of blood welled in her throat.

* * *

'So, as I was saying, it really is necessary to consider all the eventualities of an uprising. Mark me, Mat, it will happen, and sooner than you think. And no doubt led by the likes of that _Cal_ fellow.' Estean finally paused for long enough to take a swig of wine. How the man could prattle for so long without drawing a breath was a complete mystery to Mat, and he would have long escaped from his company had Estean not been so determined to win his money back. There was not much chance of that happening. Mat's luck was running high, he could feel it coursing around him, an unnameable sensation that he had come to accept and even anticipate. Estean would not collect winnings this day. He was beginning to think that the game hadn't been a complete waste of time after all when the sound reached him.

The first scream caused the High cards in Mat's hand to trickle soundlessly to the floor. By the time the second pierced the air he was already running, feet pounding the grass. The last cry was brief, breaking off instead of fading. Mat followed the direction of the terrible clamour, desperately trying to fathom what calamity could cause such sounds.

He jolted past a trembling Per, burst into the bathing tent. There was something in one of the tubs, a flailing of white limbs cascading water to the floor. He almost slid as he ran for her, cursing as he plunged his hands into the raging water. Something tore at his arm but he ignored the brief flash of pain, wrenched the girl from the tub. Water poured from her mouth and nose as she gasped and coughed breath into her body, still struggling and fighting his efforts. He finally twisted her to the ground, his arms clamped around her middle as he all but shouted into her ear. 'Mai, it's me. It's Mat. You're all right. Everything's all right.' His repeated the soothing litany for what seemed like an age before the girl gradually stopped fighting, her struggles diminishing to shudders.

He snatched at a nearby sheet, used it to wrap around her shivering form whilst trying to manoeuvre her clasping arms. She clung to him, shaking violently with sobs and cold.

Mat patted her awkwardly, painfully aware how strange the situation would look to the gaggle of men who has inevitably responded to the horrifying cries. Sure enough he heard voices outside the tent, quiet yet urgent sounding. He patted her shoulder a little more briskly. 'Mai? Are you all right? Would you like me to call Per?'

She shook her head forcefully, wet hair water into his face. 'Not _him_. _He_ promised he would stop anyone from coming in here.' Her voice was low and rasping, so different from the splitting screams she had vented. 'He promised...' She broke off with a grimace, her hand clutching at her throat as though to wrest something from there.

'Who, Mai? Who was in here?' He shook her a little. 'Was it Per?' Mat couldn't imagine what had startled her so. Surely she would not have reacted in this way just because someone accidentally entered the tent?

Her hair showered him again as she gestured her denial. 'No, not Per. There was a _man _here. He was bleeding. He tried to hurt me.'

She refused to speak any further, no matter how much he coaxed her into an explanation. He began gently disentangling himself from her now lax limbs and tried to help her to her feet. 'Come on, let's get you into something warm.'

The girl gazed at him dazedly but she managed to dutifully heave herself upright, tugging the sheet more tightly around her.

He led her to the entrance of the tent where they were met by a small group of obviously curious men. A wide-eyed Estean was the first to see the pair. He gawped at Mat, a forgotten fan of cards in one hand and an equally forgotten cudgel in the other, the latter presumably brought in the event of a struggle. The rest of the men soon joined Estean in mute study, eyes raking over Mat's fine clothes, which were now drenched with suds and water, before focusing on Mai, a sight with her pallor clearly visible beneath the reddening effects of the hot bath.

Mat shook warm droplets from his sleeves as he gave a reassuringly genial smile. 'As you can see, everything is fine. Nothing at all to be worried about.' He barely withheld a wince as the now cooling water began to seep into his left boot. 'The whole thing was a misunderstanding.' The small rabble of men continued to gaze at him, frankly disbelieving. The smile slid from his face. 'As I said, everything is fine. I give you permission to leave.'

Finally taking their cue the men began to depart in a lacklustre fashion, throwing confused glances over shoulders as they skulked away. Mat silently thanked the sole Redarm who soon began to chivvy them into a trot, his assured commands diminished only by frequent, racking coughs. The beardless young man who had been so reluctant to battle him at cards was casting decidedly hostile looks in Mat's direction as he grudgingly walked away. It was only marginally better than the awed stares he had received from him earlier.

Per crept towards them, hands wringing themselves into whiteness. His large eyes took in Mai's state of undress and Mat's splashed attirey. 'Is everything all right with the young lady, my Lord?'

Mat grasped the man by his elbow and unceremoniously dragged him to one side. 'What just happened? Or should I ask which bloody fool thought it would be funny to go in there and scare the wits out of the girl?'

'I'm sorry, My Lord, I do not know what you mean.'

'Who went in there? It's a simple question, Per.'

'In there? Why, no one my Lord.'

Mat frowned. 'Are you certain?'

'Absolutely, I was keeping watch the whole time.' He flushed suddenly. 'To make sure no one went in, I mean.'

With a careful sigh, Mat released Per's arm and brushed past the motionless Mai to enter the tent. After a cursory look around, he hastily swept the girl's cloak from the floor and bundled it into a small wad. There was no one hiding in the place, of that he was certain, and if there had been they would have surely been spotted haring from the tent. As he turned to leave Mat noticed a swathe of sorry looking bandages at his feet. After a moment of bemused consideration, he grabbed the tangle of strips and stuffed them into his dripping coat.

When Mat emerged he saw that Mai was now staring steadfastly at her feet. The girl was somehow managing to look mortified and outraged at once, although her shoulders still quivered with reaction. He swept the cloak around her and guided her into movement. 'Per, would you be so good as to bring us some spiced wine? The potent kind?'

Per nodded vehemently, evidently grateful for an excuse to be somewhere else.

Awkwardly patting the trembling girl's shoulder, Mat herded her towards the nearest infirmary, head all but spinning with confused reaction. Worse still he had the unhappy feeling he hadn't seen the last of the days surprises.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

(AN – Chapter thirteen. I should have known this one would be trouble. It's caused me more grief than any of the others put together. The damned chapter has been mercilessly wiped from treacherous discs TWICE, prompting two full re-writes that became more and more mundane and tiresome and downright god-awful every time I hacked away at my keyboard (yes, a wiser person would have made back-up copies, but not me. Oh no. That would have made far too much sense). They say thirteen is unlucky for some, and I seem to have discovered my numerical nemesis. Right, now that's off my chest, genuine thanks to Sammy-Jo and dueljewl for the reviews. To the former, thanks for your polite critique and readers insight. I'm glad you liked the two installments you reviewed, although I'm guessing you'll get some serious writer's cramp if you indulge me for the rest of the chapters ( but don't let that stop you ;) ). And dueljewl, you like the idea of the romance-y thing, eh? I've given it some thought, but the fic. would inevitably end up as either a drippy slush-fest, or some dreadfully nihilistic tale of doom ( I just love unhappy endings, don't you?) Besides, I don't read romance at all, so any attempt at fluff would probably be an uber-disaster. Oh, and regarding the whole symbol thing, it's actually not the dreaded Dragon Fang, but I'm sure (fingers crossed) that everything will become clearer in the upcoming chapters. Right, that's enough yammering from me. Thanks again for reviewing.

**Disclaimer** - These are getting old now...

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

The inside of the tent was brighter than Mat expected but still proved welcome respite from the noonday sun. Shafts of light arrowed through the stifling interior, blazing though the small tears in the canvas. Mat rubbed at his nose; that unpleasantly familiar fragrance, so offensively medicinal, clung to the dry air.

'It seems we have happened upon your least favourite tent.' The girls words were soft and hesitant, the first he had heard her utter since the the incident.

'That blasted green stuff.' He rubbed at his nose more vigorously. 'Hangs around like a bad smell, eh?'

Mai made a noncommittal sound as she lowered herself onto a pallet. She sat there for a moment, eyes fixed upon her unshod feet. 'Thank you.'

'For what?'

Her smile was little more than a taut twist of her lips. 'For saving me.'

'Oh, that.'_ What else would she be thanking you for? _'Think nothing of it.'

Mai offered no further comment, although her face softened with what was presumably relief.

He sat on the makeshift bed closest to her. 'How are you feeling?'

Those large blue eyes met his. 'I've been worse. I think. It seems to fade more quickly now.'

Mat had barely opened his mouth to ask exactly_ what _was fading more quickly when the girl hurried on. 'This seems to be in danger of becoming a regular occurrence. I mean, these sudden meetings about my behaviour.'

'I could get someone else instead if you like?' He smiled at her sudden flush of alarm. 'I'm just teasing you, Mai.'

'It's just that I don't want everyone here knowing about me. It's bad enough having one person think you're crazy.'

'I don't think that.'

Mai's expression was openly disbelieving.

'Oh, you have your moments,' he went on. 'But crazy? Not quite.'

They lapsed into silence and, to his alarm, Mat realised that he could not think of a thing to say. Apparently, neither could the girl. By the way Mai was shifting on her pallet he guessed that she was feeling the discomfort of the silence also. The whole situation was horribly unfamiliar. What under the Light was he supposed to do? Bombard her with questions or wait until she decided to grace him with an explanation? Mai was nibbling upon a damp tail of hair, eyes resolutely downcast. There was only one thing for it; he would have to ask her something. The silence was stifling. He drilled a quiet tattoo on the dry ground with his boot-heel as he willed a suitable question into his mind.

_So, Mai, when did you first discover you could scream like that? _

That wouldn't sound right. Best not to be too light-hearted.

_It's very hot today, wouldn't you say? Uncommonly hot, even._

What good would that be? It had been too bloody hot for the past week or so, and that would hardly help steer the conversation in the right direction.

Perhaps he needed to ask her something less specific. He was about to enquire whether she cared for dancing – which would be a perfectly acceptable question under the circumstances - all women liked dancing, didn't they? – when Per, hands clutched around a small bowl, made a hesitant entrance. Mat could have hugged him.

'Per! Come in.' Leaping to his feet, Mat grasped the bowl of steaming wine and held it appreciatively under his nose. 'Smells wonderful.'

His hands now relieved of any distraction, Per took once more to wringing them. 'My pleasure, My Lord.' He glanced at Mai then just as quickly skittered his gaze away. 'Will the lady be requiring anything else?'

They both looked to the girl. She responded with a near imperceptible shake of her head.

Mat cleared his throat. 'I suppose that will be all for the moment.'

The man gave a grateful smile and quickly backed away, managing a deft bow at precisely the right moment to duck him out of the door.

Mat allowed himself a moment to appreciate that neat manoeuvre before reluctantly turning his attention once more to the girl. Per hadn't provided much of a diversion. Why hadn't he taken her to Cal? Mat could admit that he himself had never been much of a listener; his mother always harped about how he couldn't sit still enough to bolt down his food, much less hold a decent conversation. It wasn't his fault he felt uncomfortable when people started blathering about consequence and responsibility and _feelings_ and such. If those who knew could see him now...Mat Cauthon, the sympathetic listener. Nynaeve would have an apoplexy.

Mai was staring at him. He hitched his slipping smile to a suitably cheery position. His cheeks were beginning to ache. Now she was moving, arms extending towards him. What under the Light was she doing? Mat stared at her outstretched hands as though they were serpents poised for strike before realising what it was she wanted. He thrust the small bowl at her, cursing as hot wine slopped around its low sides. Incredibly none of the stuff managed to escape and scald the girl now accepting the offering with a wry smile.

'I don't bite, Mat.'

She thought he was _afraid_? It was closer to the truth than he would admit, of course. He would rather face a roomful of Fades than a woman with something on her mind.

_Bloody women. Bloody women and their bloody secrets. _

He froze in the act of lowering himself back onto the pallet at her next words.

'Do you dream?

Mat slumped the rest of the way onto the bed. 'Of course. Doesn't everybody?' It was not the strangeness of the question that unnerved him but the cool manner in which she spoke. The girl had composed herself remarkably, a contrast to the cowering thing he had all but carried to the infirmary.

Mai was smiling at his careful response, but the expression held that same fixed quality. 'Everybody? What an amazing thing. But you speak of it so lightly. Everybody dreams...' Her voice was soft, as though she had learned something wondrous.

Mat continued to watch her, saw her hands clasp the cup so tightly its warmth reddened her slender fingers. Her next words were thick with bitterness.

'I have read of people that know of dreams, write of them as though they are nothing more than whimsies,' she scorned. 'I envy them.' She stared at him then, eyes piercing in their intensity. 'Mat, have you ever had a dream that was so strong, so _real_, you felt sure it would break you?'

Images flashed before he could stop them; cold stone walls; a crude figure clasping a tiny dagger capped with a crimson gem; a rage of flame and shadow; a fiery maw; and then the searing pain...

'No.' It was not a lie, exactly. It had been some time since that particular darkness had seared his dreams, and the chill aftermath had usually been eased with a bottle or two of good red. He winced, stretching his cramped legs. 'Mai, I brought you here to talk about what happened. What is this about?' So what if he sounded almost snippy - the girl had managed to dredge a memory he'd rather forget and, irritatingly, it was one of his own.

She held the cup close to her lips as though to drown her words. 'I have bad dreams. Every time I sleep, I have them. I see...things, men and women and children. People I have no memory of. They hurt me. That last one, he tried to drown me in the bathing tub.' A cold smile touched her lips, the dark reflection of wine staining them crimson. 'I think they hate me.'

Mat all but gaped. All of this secrecy, this strange behaviour, all because of some _dreams_?

'Mai, these dreams cannot hurt you.' His voice was gentle and deliberate, as though he were explaining away the foolish imaginings of a child. All right, the words weren't strictly true, but Mat was sure there was no real menace in her nightmares. How could there be? She was just a village girl, empty of threat and importance.

'Is that what you think?' A bitter laugh. 'Tell me, Mat, what would have happened if I hadn't managed to scream?'

'But you did.'

'But what if next time I don't?' There was a sibilance in her voice, an angry hiss to her own threat. 'They are getting stronger. Once, I could wake and only half-remember. Now...' Her eyes squeezed shut before quickly flying open again, as though frightened of what they saw in the darkness. 'Now I feel I will not wake at all.' The girl took a deep drink of wine, flinched. 'They are going to kill me, I know it.'

'Mai, there is not 'they'. These people aren't real.'

'And you think I haven't already told myself this? You think I haven't scorned myself for being afraid of my own _mind_?' Her shoulders slumped as the anger dimmed. 'I am not a fool, Mat. I may be mad, but I am not a fool.'

'You are _not_ mad. There must be a reason why you are having these dreams.' He tugged his ear, considering. 'Has anything happened to start them off? Do you have remember anything, you know, _bad_ happening to you?' He felt uncomfortable asking such a personal question, the sort that usually led to weeping in women.

Thankfully, his fears were unfounded. The girl actually gave a smile, albeit it a rather sour one.

'That would lead to my second problem. I don't remember.'

'You don't remember what?'

'Anything,' she snapped. 'I simply don't remember.'

Her admission startled him into silence.

_Sa souvraya niende misain ye..._*

'What_ do_ you remember?' he asked finally, feeling more uncomfortable than the situation could account for.

'Useless things. Arriving in Laybridge with Nath, living in that house, the dreams, these things are clear. Before that, very little. Sometimes I glimpse things at the edges of my mind, as though they are just out of reach. A woman, smiling and speaking without words. A man. Screams. These things I remember, worthless as they are.

'What about Nath. Surely he could tell you something—'

'He never spoke of anything before our arrival at Laybridge. He never spoke of anything, really. What I do know is that he dislikes me a great deal. He might even hate me, even though he never let me from his sight.'

Mat watched her sweep her hair from her face with a pale hand. 'Did he know about the dreams?'

'I never told him. We barely spoke. If he noticed, he never asked. I suppose he must have suspected the reason for the disappearing Stayroot, but he never mentioned it.'

'Stayroot?'

Mai reached into her cloak and produced the small glass container he had seen once before. She raised the phial to a shaft of sunlight. 'As you can see, the situation is becoming a little desperate.'

Mat stared at the phial; barely a few drops remained. The girl tucked the glass bottle away in some hidden part of her cloak before resting her placid gaze upon him once more.

'What will happen when there is none left?'

He saw that her hands were shaking as she grasped the bowl of wine. 'The tincture is not commonly prescribed. Most people in Laybridge drank themselves into a stupor, so I suppose constant tiredness would not be something that they would seek remedy for. And the ingredients are expensive. I doubt very much that Nath would have even bothered to barter for the herbs to make a new batch. It would not be worth the effort.' She caught her lip between her teeth, as though this notion had only just occurred to her.

Mat saw that she had resumed her shivering and reached a hand to guide the wine to her lips. 'Here now, drink while it's warm.'

The girl gazed at him over the cup, her eyes fearful. She swallowed the wine with difficulty and he realised that she was fighting tears.

'Well, I've said it,' she said in a bright voice that cracked at the end. 'I've told somebody I'm crazy.'

The inevitable tears welled. Mat steadied himself for what promised to be a fierce crying storm - maybe a few strategic words could lessen the rain...

'Like I said, I don't think you're crazy. Lots of people lose their memories.'

Her shoulders were hitching now. Mat searched for a way to stop her winding into hysterics while simultaneously fighting the urge to flee.

'Well, not _lots_ exactly. But it does happen. Look, there must be a reason for these dreams, perhaps it's your mind's way of trying to...leak something out.'

'Really,' she snorted mid-sob. 'You think that the dreams are trying to help me by...by...by...' And here a loud sniff. '...frightening me to death.'

He gave an uneasy shrug. 'I don't know. But you're not the first.'

Her eyebrows arched in frank disbelief.

'It's true.' Oh he was digging himself a hole now, all right. 'It even happened to me. Once.' There. He'd said it. And she was _still_ bloody weeping.

Mai's wet eyes were wide with genuine shock 'Really. You had dreams like mine?'

'No. But I did lose memories. A whole bunch of them actually. Just flew right out of there,' he finished, fluttering a hand skyward.

'Why?'

'One of those things, I suppose.' He'd spouted enough already, and he'd be blighted before spilling everything about that bloody debacle. 'But they came back. Well, mostly.' No point getting the girl too hopeful.

'How?' To his chagrin, he saw that her eyes were round and eager, her cheeks suddenly flushed. 'What did you do?'

_Oh, I wandered into a dead city with the Dragon bloody Reborn - who, by the way, actually _is_ mad - baked in the blasted heat, was stupid enough to chase some cheating son-of-goats who decided it might be fun to hang me, and all I got was a headful of dead men's memories..._

'They just sort of...came back. Like I said, not all of them, but enough to get by.' He rubbed at his throat. The lies sat almost as heavily as that bloody noose, but there was no way he was setting the girl on a path to Rhuidean. There was only so much his conscience could take.

Mat took a long swallow of wine to show he was done talking on the subject. To his relief the girl seemed to have recovered at least a little of her customary composure, although her eyes were still glossy.

'So it is truly useless, then. Nothing is going to help me remember.' She took the bowl from him mid-sip and drained it dry.

Mat blinked. 'Perhaps its best if you don't drink that too quickly.'

'What?'

'The wine.'

'Oh. But it really is very soothing.' She gave the empty cup a wistful look.

Mat shifted to reach the wineskin at his belt. 'For emergencies,' he drawled.

Mai eyed him suspiciously. 'There seems to be an awful lot of wine in this camp. Have your men never heard of water?'

'Dreadful waste.' He grinned. 'What would we bathe in?'

'It seems to me not a lot of bathing goes on either.'

Mat's sip was foiled by a smile. 'I thought we were here to discuss you, not the bathing habits of my men.'

She murmured thanks as he handed her the wineskin. 'Very well. This wine is pleasant, though.'

'Should be - it cost enough.' It had also loosened her up a bit; time to broach new territory. 'I was wondering, Mai, whether I should pay Nath a visit.'

He was expecting her to rail against the suggestion, perhaps work herself into a panic at the very thought. He was therefore surprised by the smile that thinned her lips. 'It would be interesting,' she mused. 'Although he didn't seem too pleased last time. I don't think he likes you very well.'

Mat gave a loud snort. 'I should think not. We didn't part on very good terms.'

'And there's the small matter of you stealing his Healer.'

''Stealing'? You practically followed us here!'

But her gaze had now fixed themselves at the neck of his shirt. 'What _is_ that?' she breathed.

'This?' The foxhead talisman was cool, but thankfully not cold, against his fingers. 'Just a little something I picked up. Comes in useful every now and then.'

'It must do - I've never seen you without it.' She peered closer at the silvery foxhead, its divided eye seemed to defy the dim light and glinted brightly. 'I like it,' she declared, and was that a hint of a slur? 'Looks as thought it might...keep you safe somehow.' Her sudden flush was plain. 'I'm sorry, I must sound like I have wool for brains.'

Mat smoothed his fingers over the silver _ter'angreal_. An idea was just beginning to take shape... 'Mai, I think it would be a good idea for you to sleep.'

He noticed her stunned gaze was a little unfocused. 'After what happened earlier? Haven't you been listening?'

'Nothing will harm you. You have my word on that.'

'No.' Mai grasped at her cloak in what was becoming a habitual gesture. 'I won't.'

'If I am here then I can wake you if things get serious.'

'You? Here? While I sleep? Absolutely not! It wouldn't be decent.'

'You worry about a little thing like decency at a time like this?' He shifted, leaned closer to her. 'You've have told me things you wouldn't have dreamed - _thought_ - of saying a few days back. You're brave enough.'

Suspicion clouded her outrage. 'Why? Why help me after all you've done already?'

He groped for a reason she wouldn't be able to twist into an accusation. 'I've nothing better to do - it's either help you or sit around watching Estean lose at cards.' It was partly the truth. He was bored, after all.

He almost squirmed under her scrutiny - what happened to the girl who barely showed her face a few days ago? Her keen eyes searched for a glimmer of ulterior motive. Mat gave her his best grin, one that had gotten him back in favour many a time.

'Look, just try. I'll be here, and if you do have another of those dreams then you can have some of that bloody Stickroot—'

'Stayroot.'

'All right, bloody _Stayroot _to keep you awake until we find a way to stop this.'

'I won't do it. It's too dangerous.'

'How can you know that if you don't even try?'

Her pale hands fluttered upwards, as though considering flattening over her ears. 'Stop bullying me.'

'Stop being so unreasonable.'

'Oh, blood and bloody ashes! All right. There, happy now?'

He almost laughed at her clumsy attempt at cursing. The words had the opposite effect of making her seem even younger and less certain than usual. 'Not really. Now I have to watch someone sleep. And I thought I was bored before...'

Mai shook her head. 'How do you do it?'

'Do what? Annoy you?

'No.' Her voice was soft now, thoughtful. 'Make me feel like a normal person.'

Mat shifted slightly on his makeshift seat. 'Because you are. More normal than most, even. Trust me, I've met some strange characters.'

'I can believe that.' Her smile was broad and utterly genuine; witnessing it for the first time was like seeing sunlight burst through stormclouds.

Mat abruptly snatched back the wineskin. 'Well, are you going to sleep or not? I want to find my way to the cook fire sometime before dark.'

The smile faded, bringing a curiously unpleasant sensation of relief and disappointment.

He watched as Mai positioned herself so she was lying on her back. 'Promise you'll wake me?'

'Promise,' he murmured.

He knew the pallor of fear; the girl looked white as a recruit entering his first fray. A strange idea occurred to him. Before he could question it, he tugged the _ter'angreal _over his head, wincing as it snagged at his hair.

'Here,' he thrust the foxhead at her. 'You said it looked like it can keep someone safe.'

Mai hesitated before reaching up for the medallion and Mat fought a spiteful urge to snatch it back. He felt strangely exposed.

The girl wound the black cord about her wrist; the foxhead she clenched in her palm. 'Thank you.' A smile, a shadow of the one before it, touched her white lips. 'I suppose you are getting tired of hearing that.'

'A little.' His attention wandered to what was clasped in her hand, and Mat once more found himself stifling the nagging feeling that he had acted on a decidedly unwise impulse. 'Now, sleep.'

With a small sigh, Mai did.

* * *

*I am lost in my own mind.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

A/N – Well, would you look at that? I've been writing this fic. for over a year, and I'm only on chapter fourteen.  Yes, I am indeed a lazy so-and-so.  And now, in alphabetical order: Alix – It means a heck of a lot that you like this story, and I'm really very glad that you left a review saying so. Diolch, cariad. Dueljewl - Thank you, once again, for your support and encouragement, and your recent prod for me to get my a*se in gear. Given my lack of any kind of motivation, I needed it! Stormer – Gosh, I'm glad you thought this was worthy of such praise. And yes, that is a spelling mistake you noticed. The whole story is absolutely riddled with them, and lots of other errors besides. But I solemnly promise to consult my dictionary more often :) Virago - I really do appreciate your continued input and response to the story, and I'm glad you're looking forward to this chapter, although you might think differently after reading it. I'd love any feedback either way. To all readers, I am very sorry to put you through the ordeal of reading this curious chapter, which errs on the dreaded fringes of tedium. But never fear, I will certainly try to make the next instalment more reader-friendly for my friendly readers, and I won't even discount the possibility of a smattering of soppiness here and there (gasp). And if I don't see you around, have a very Merry Christmas. Once again all, thanks for the reviews. 

**Disclaimer** - I do not own anything to do with WoT. Shame, that.

Chapter Fourteen 

'Get up.' 

She flinched as those cold words sheared through the silence. Mai sat on the arid ground, her knees clasped tightly to her chest, bearing sole witness to the scene unfolding before her wide eyes. She barely realised the numb mutiny of her body, only dimly aware that her torpid limbs were as futile of movement as those of the blonde figure vainly struggling to raise itself from the hard ground. She bit at her lip as the trapped man fell back, his chest panting with the effort of trying to wrest free of the weapon that forced his lithe form to cleave against the scorched dirt. 

Mat stood above his opponent, his jaw tight, eyes cold and dark. Nothing but the parched leaves rasping a whispered susurrus marred the silence.

Forcing breath into her starved lungs, Mai narrowed her gaze against the searing light of the sun glaring at the combatants like some monstrous, jaundiced eye. The air in her breast burned in sympathy as Mat pressed the weapon against his opponents throat for a few long moments before finally relinquishing the fatal blow, grinding the butt of the quarterstaff in the stony ground at his feet. 

The hot wind grazed her skin as it flung whips of her hair before her eyes, and her cold hand swept at the dark strips as she watched Mat lower a condescending arm to his opponent, a small movement twitching the corners of his lips. It was then that the prone man moved.

She choked back a cry as the figure manoeuvred with a deftness that forced her breath to falter. In a heartbeat, the seemingly defeated man had flurried into movement on the parched ground, his legs sweeping to jolt a wide-eyed Mat to the floor amid a blaze of ruddy dust.

Blond hair gleaned into whiteness in the fierce sunlight, Cal now stood over his rival, his eyes like shards of cobalt in that pale, inscrutable face. 'You always were too complacent, Mat.'

Without warning, a hand shot out to seize the abandoned quarterstaff. With a grin of pure malice, Mat veered the staff to jam against the startled mans stomach, levering the blunt point against the vulnerable point where the tender short-ribs fused. 'Is that so?'

Measured applause echoed in the silence. 'Very pretty, my lords. Now, do you suppose you two could stop drubbing one other for long enough to have a rest?'

A grinning Mat sprang to his feet, somewhat rudely rebuffing the aid of Cal's grudgingly proffered arm. 'I suppose so. What do you say, Cal? You certainly look in need of a respite.'

Cal, who was now sweeping a hand through his dampened curls, gave a small moue of annoyance. 'I only broke a sweat because I was dodging all that stick-flailing you call sparring.' He paused for a moment, seemingly relishing Mat's scandalised expression, before strolling towards her, the length of a wooden sword resting casually on his shoulder. 'So, my lady, what is your valued opinion on that accomplished display of fighting prowess?'

'Oh, it was most entertaining. For a little while, at least.' Her lips twitched as Cal's strangely sardonic smile wilted. 'I'm sorry, but all those…flowery movements just seem so unnecessary.' 

'Flowery?' Mat was stalking towards them, all but spluttering with renewed outrage. 'Unnecessary?'

Cal was studying her with eyes narrowed to mere blue crescents, his lips curling once more into a wry smile.

'Well, I always thought that combat would be a little more straightforward. Why can't you just—' She mimed a vague stabbing gesture with her arm. '—you know, jab the enemy to death?'

'Jab?' Cal's gaze widened as he drawled the word. 'Without even a _semblance_ of skill or technique? Where is the honour in that?'

'I see.' She breathed. 'How silly of me to think that the idea was to kill the enemy as quickly as possible. It really makes far more sense your way. Death by polite misadventure.'

Mat gave a loud snort but Cal's eyes never left her own unflinching glare. 'Mai, you can't claim to win a dignified fight by simply hacking at your opponent. It's just not done.'

Mai allowed a small sniff to show her derision of such foolish sensibility. 'Oh, very well. I just thought the whole thing would be a little more straightforward. There really are far too many moves. Why do men always have to make things so complicated for themselves?'

The two men exchanged a fleeting glance that Mai had soon identified as that silent, and unmistakably male, gesture of shared commiseration. 

_Women_.

She gave a demure little smile in response. 'Well, I suppose I should remove myself from your little pastime. Try not to injure yourselves with all that…what was the word you used, Cal? Flailing?' With a small cough to disguise an irrepressible bubble of mirth, Mai left the pair to their amusement. 

Mat shook his head as he flourished the quarterstaff with practised ease. 'Fine.' He declared, his petulant tone betrayed by an indulgent smile. 'Well my friend, shall we continue practising our _jabbing at one another?'_

Cal was still staring at the departing girl when he saw her favour his companion with a disarmingly demure smile. There was something in her candid gaze, however, that forced his forced levity to darken. Eyeing his companions askance, he witnessed Mat's offhand response of an apologetic shrug and an easy grin, before the younger man turned away. But another lingering glimpse warned him that the girl was still watching the oblivious Mat, her eyes large and guileless, the delicate flush in her cheeks belying the pallor that had until so recently plagued her.

'Ready?' 

Cal turned, his lips curved in a smile that looked forced to the point of pain, to face an expectant Mat. 'As ever, my friend.'

****oOo****

Mai swept a lone honey-bright blossom from the grass as she lowered herself to the ground. It felt pleasingly unfamiliar to sit with her legs crossed and unhampered by folds of heavy, black cloak. With a contented sigh, she traced a hand over the warm earth, relishing the texture as it grazed her palm. She had quickly discovered that even such simple sensations as this could bring a small joy to her, that even the most innocuous and inconsequential things could be so bright, so vibrant. 

The renewed clack of the wooden practice weapons faded from her awareness as she raised her face to the sun. The glory of golden light felt wonderful against her skin. Her fingers sought and deftly plucked a fluted petal from the flower, and she nipped the tapered flesh with her teeth. The tiny bead of nectar was almost painfully sweet, a welcome antidote to the bitter sting of the Stayroot. Not that she had sampled that particular taste this morning. 

A smile blossomed at the realisation, and she raised a hand to her lips to explore the unfamiliar upturned curve with fingertips powdered with sweet nectar and a silken dusting of earth. She had tried to be careful, even now striving not to let her hopes soar too high, but it was difficult to dampen her newfound elation. To awaken without fear, to rise from sleep like dander moved by summer air, so weightless and at peace had been like emerging from a stifling cocoon. Her thoughts persisted in lilting to the moment when she had awoken to the soft glow of tallow light, the strange foxhead warm and comfortingly heavy in her fingers.

The amulets smooth, silken weight had been a solace in itself. In her slumbering mind, it had seemed to exist like some shining link to her sleeping body, leaving her free to drift in the fathomless swells of silence whilst being her anchor, mooring her to the real world. 

She had emerged from this blissful sea of oblivion to find Mat sprawled on an adjoining pallet. His gaze had been fixed upon the white canopy above, eyes barely blinking as his thumb ceaselessly flipped a slivery coin into the air. She had lain almost painfully still for a while, reluctant to yield the solitude of the moment even though her sleep-cramped limbs ached in protest. For a few, glorious moments, she had been perfectly content to bask in quiet joy, her eyes following the hypnotic flow of the coin as it tumbled through the air with an almost musical purr. 

Mat had started when he finally realised that she was awake, though it took only a moment for him to recover his composure and ask her what had happened. He was grinning as broadly as she by the time her short account had ended.

Nothing.

Sweet, beautiful, fathomless nothing.

There had been no dreams, good or ill, just the comforting solitude of darkness and silence.

Mai had not wanted to tempt misfortune with a second attempt, but Mat had been so persistent in that insufferable way of his, and her body still so achingly weary, that she had once again lapsed into dark oblivion almost as soon as her eyes closed.

When she next awoke, the tent was steeped in the blissfully soft glow of a new day and she was again compelled to remain in silent repose for a moment, content to lay with heavy lassitude still lingering in her body. 

Mat was deep in slumber although his lashes fluttered spiked shadows on his flushed cheeks and his lips mouthed elusive words in seemingly little more than softly aspirated whispers.  It amused her a little that he should be so animate in his slumber. She had always imagined that those without her affliction would be peaceful and untroubled while sleeping, their bodies motionless and still. 

It struck her that the reactions had to be the result of some dream, that those strange, indecipherable words were in response to something only he could see. To her chagrin, Mai had felt a brief pang of something that was uncomfortably akin to envy before the feeling was eclipsed by shame. What did it matter that she would never experience some silly, foolish dreams? Yesterday, she couldn't even conceive of being able to sleep without the threat of a somnolent demise. How could she crave such a ridiculous thing when she had just experienced her first night of blissfully uninterrupted sleep in as long as she could remember? 

She had flinched when Mat breathed a sigh and turned in his sleep, had felt horribly guilty at her resentment of something so foolish. He had looked so peaceful that she had been loath to wake him, but eager to leave the tent, so great was her sudden discomfort. 

Her hands had trembled as she hesitantly placed the foxhead on his pillow, hardly deigning to breathe in her effort not to wake him at such close proximity, certain that he would suddenly awaken as her hand almost brushed a mussed lock of his hair. The thought made her stomach perform a curious little lurch.

Mai quietly slipped from the infirmary and soon abandoned her qualms to the unbearable sweetness of the morning air. Everything around her, from the brash whisper of naked, coppery branches, to the soft rasp of dying grass beneath her bare feet, even the bruised caw of a circling crow, seemed so bright and glorious, untainted by the sick throb of exhaustion. For a while, she had been aware of nothing except a joy that was almost painful until an unfamiliar, gnawing sensation in her midriff distracted her with enough vehemence to made her wince. It took some pensive thought before she realised that the sensation was actually her stomach complaining about its protracted neglect.

A visit to the cook fire had resulted in her enthusiastically emptying a large bowl of tepid porridge, much to the delight of a nervously hovering Per.

The only thing that had seemed intent to burden her further was her cloak. Mai felt its weight acutely, as though some sentient creature were clinging to her like a stifling skin, eager to drain her newfound elation. The thought of retrieving the clothes now abandoned amongst the oaken bathing tubs kindled a fresh flare of anxiety. A mere day before, she would have thought it an inconceivable horror to return to the place that had so terrified her, but the bathing tent had looked so bright and cheerful on her arrival that she could barely believe the terror she had felt there. She had even traced her fingers over the damp wood of the drum in which she had been so rudely doused and then just as unceremoniously hauled from. The slow ripple started by her light touch flowed across the chill water to travel along her flesh, and a flush suffused her cheeks as the memory of the event flittered through her mind.  

Determining not to dwell on the incident, Mai had quickly set her mind to searching for the lost garments. The tunic and breeches were easy to find, but her binding had vanished, leaving her to fret that someone had removed it. She had pressed a cool hand to her cheek to try and stifle the blush suddenly flaming anew, but to no avail.

Once she had hurried to her own quarters, Mai quickly applied more binding and dressed in her new clothes. The unfamiliar garments hugged her skin in a worrying fashion, making her feel horribly vulnerable. As she paced about the tent, trying to accustom herself to the curious garb, Mai realised just how painfully thin she had become. She could not recall a time when she looked any different, but it had never struck her so forcibly before. No wonder Cal was always following her around with food. The only visible part of her that seemed to have any verve was her hair. Now that it was washed and untangled it seemed to brim with a purpose of its own, swirling about her face as though challenging her to contain its exuberance. With a fond scowl, she had finally gathered it at the nape of her neck, only just managing to quell its enthusiasm with a tightly wound strip of leather cord.

After she had spent several more minutes becoming accustomed to the new clothes, Mai deemed herself ready to encounter someone who wasn't sick, sleeping, or in a perpetual state of nervous flutter. After a brief round of the men, most of who had blinked at her transformation in outright confusion, she determined to seek out Cal.

It did not take long. Mai had soon discovered him secreted in a small, wooded area near the fringe of the camp. The snug place had been cleared of grass, save for a few tufts of green no doubt coaxed into renewed growth by the uncommonly fine weather. As a result, the ground was hard and baked looking, but Cal was moving over this troubled earth with a strange, fluid grace, a wooden sword moving before him in a mesmerising sequence of intricate patterns. She had watched him for some time, unbeknownst to the silent combatant, marvelled at the beauty of the movements, which were not at all as barbarous as she had imagined. 

Cal had at first greeted her with wide eyes and an even wider grin, but this heartening reaction had quickly been replaced with an insipidly tolerant smile, the polite sort that he often adopted whenever Estean was in the vicinity. He then proceeded to deign her with little more than a cursory greeting and a polite enquiry after her health, all the while evading her gaze.

Much as she tried to deny it, the strange, unspoken rebuffal had stung. For the first time, Mai had felt unwelcome in the presence of the usually affable man. Fuelled by the mortification by her behaviour of the previous day, Mai was filled with a dread certainty that Cal would confront her for an explanation of the events. She needn't have worried. The man made no further attempt to engage her, instead lowering his gaze to the ground in a sudden gesture of what could have been irritation or chagrin. Beneath the flush of exertion, Cal's face was pale and decidedly troubled looking. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps the man was feeling as awkward as she herself did. At once alarmed and relieved, Mai was about to conjure an innocuous pleasantry when Mat had suddenly appeared, barely acknowledging her presence except for the conspiratorial wink he tipped her. 

Unwilling for an opportunity to pass up on a little practice, the two men had begun to spar in earnest, Cal with his sword and Mat with a stout quarterstaff. It had been wonderful to watch them. Although she knew precious little about such matters, Mai was sure that they must be accomplished fighters. The sinuous movements seemed to be second nature to them, their bodies flowing from one stance to the next with confident ease. She privately admitted that she found the performance exhilarating, and had not found any of the cruelly graceful, movements 'unnecessary'. She also realised, however, that the pair had been perfectly aware of the effect they must have been producing, and she had consequently enjoyed portraying a study of complete indifference. Mai had decided that it could be of no benefit to be complacent about a talent, no matter how consummate the skill.

She smiled as a shadow fell over her, effectively quelling her flittering thoughts. 'I hope you're not intending to try and frighten me.'

'Not at all, my lady.'

Mai opened her eyes to see Cal towering above her, his form silhouetted against the blazing sun.

'Mat was under the impression that you might want accompaniment on your next check of the fallen.'

'Oh. That would be nice.' Light! When did her voice become so feeble? 'Thank you.' She murmured as a strong hand aided her to her feet.

Cal paused for a long moment before releasing her arm. 'You're quite welcome.' 

The man's face was still hidden in shadow, but she could feel his steady gaze upon her. 'Beven is still very sick.' She blurted, her stomach fluttering as though it were twisting itself into tight little knots.

'Then we shall check on him first.' With this and a low, almost mocking bow, Cal motioned her to walk. 

As she obeyed, Mai cast a look over her shoulder, aware that Cal was shadowing her gaze. Mat was leaning on his quarterstaff. Upon seeing her, he gave her an indolent wave. 

'After you, my Lady.'

Mai gave Cal a taut smile, and headed towards the infirmary.

****oOo****

The reins felt uncomfortably sticky in his palms as Mat struggled to slow Pips into a trot. The sun smote heavily upon the pair in the stifling heat of midday, but what served to irritate the rider seemed to intoxicate his jubilant steed. Mat swore with alarmingly frequency as the horse gave voice to loud whickers and snorts as he pranced in an almost coltish fashion, his hooves stirring the dry ground into ruddy funnels of dust. Giving another sharp tug on the reigns, and receiving a loud snort for his less than delicate ministrations, Mat gave silent thanks that at least there was no one to see them. After a prolonged period of enforced confinement and lack of exercise, Pips seemed more than eager to whisk the cobwebs from his shanks. The gelding frequently broke into a sprightly canter if he felt so much as a twitched finger on the taut reigns, and tossed his head haughtily at the frequent reprimands that drifted heedlessly over his large, pricked ears. 

No matter how tightly Mat kept his heels pressed to the beast's sides, the horse's euphoria at the open air simply refused to be quashed. Mat gave a sigh, and allowed the steed his little game whilst trying to loosen the stifling necktie that seemed determined to choke the breath from him. The movement caused a disc of light to hover on the ground before him, dancing as the sunlight reflected from the now exposed amulet encircling his throat. He had been heartily relieved to discover that the foxhead had been replaced when he awoke. Not that he had thought the girl would have stolen it, of course, but it made him feel better nonetheless. Her sudden appearance had caught him a little off guard, but it had not taken him long to find her. Find Cal and the girl was sure to be nearby. She seemed to be growing fonder of the man, and when Mai wasn't following Cal, the fellow was pursuing the girl like some moon-struck calf.

Mai had given him no indication that she had yielded her secrets to Cal, however. Mat had prudently decided that the girl did not want to sully his friend's regard for her, or some similarly foolish reason. She seemed inordinately worried that people thought her crazy. Not that he did. Not exactly, anyway. He had seen things that would made the girls strangest antics seem perfectly normal. 

Still, she had certainly looked healthier this morning, even if the girl had hardly any meat on her marrow. The new clothes had somehow made her appear even more spindly than that hulking cloak, but the sunlight had drawn rare smiles from her, bringing light to her shadowed eyes and colour to her pallid face. Cal certainly found her presence a distraction. He could have clouted the man senseless more than once with the amount of times the fool's eyes had strayed to girl as she watched them with lips curved in that strange smile. 

A dancing flutter of colour drew him from his reverie. 

With a sense of sinking dread, Mat watched a cobalt butterfly stutter past Pip's nose, and felt a warning shudder thrum through his mounts frame. Mat was mid-lunge, fully intent on yanking one of the stupid animals ears to stop it from scrabbling into a galloping pursuit of the colourful insect, when the shimmer of approaching bells reached his ears.

His brief interest in the butterfly now forgotten, Pip abruptly locked his legs in a lurching halt. Mat clucked his tongue, and gave a small nudge with his heels, but to no avail. The horse now refused to budge from the centre of the winding excuse for a road. 

'Bloody wonderful'. 

The dun gelding gave a reproachful look over his shoulder at his riders words.

Mat scowled at the beast's blunt head. 'This is all your fault, you know?'

A loud bleat interrupted any comment Pips may have chosen to make, and Mat tilted his hat as he squinted in the direction of the sound. A large ram had rounded the nearest bend, it's shaggy head tilted in an almost questioning fashion.

Mat leaned his elbows on the high pommel, and sighed. 'I suppose there are about a hundred more where you came from?'

The ram gave an answering shiver of its bowed head, causing the bells entwined in his matted wool to flutter into sound, and began a slow walk towards them. Several similarly fleecy forms trotted in pursuit of the shimmering sounds of their leader, and soon the hapless horse and rider were mired in a sluggish eddy of doleful looking sheep. Having no choice but to weather the endless stream of woolly creatures, Mat sat resolutely upon Pips' back, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. The Bellwether ambled past them with a mournful bleat, and another flourishing cascade of tinkling bells. 

As the flood of sheep slowed to an eventual trickle, Mat could see the figure of a man approaching. With a tip of his hat, Mat gave the squat, unhealthy looking fellow a smiling tiding, only to be greeted with a scowl from the mans weathered face. Mat quickly adopted a scowl of his own as the man stumped past, pausing between mutterings only to eject a globule of spit from between his gapped teeth. The words were heavily accented, but they sounded damning enough to offset any further attempt at conversation. Mat watched the man's back as the fellow herded his sheep, head shaking slightly with bewilderment. 

'And a good day to you, too.'

As usual, he regretted the words as they emerged from between his gritted teeth, even more so when the man spun around with an agility he did not look to possess, and bared his remaining teeth in a vindictive sneer.

'Told us to get going, they did. Didn't want us to muss up their lovely cloaks now, did they?' His grinning snarl widened into a grotesque leer. 'They'll get theirs. You'll see. Just like last time.' And the old man lapsed into gibberish again, his shoulders hunched against the bright sky as he tended to his meandering herd. 

Mat watched as the man rounded the sheep into a knot, twitching a reed to the rump of any creature that strayed from the flock. He was feeling strangely perturbed by the encounter, and was rapidly becoming tired of the sense of near constant unease. If the rest of the occupants of the blasted town were as odd as Nath and this cheery shepherd, then it would be little wonder that Mai had turned out so odd.

Pips was worrying an impatient hoof over the ground, obviously eager to resume his prancing now that the diversion had passed. Mat nudged the horse into a walk, no longer trying to reign in the beast's sporadic bursts of speed. The sooner he had his answers and was in the opposite direction to Laybridge, the better.

****oOo****

Cal swallowed as the blade tip lowered to dimple the skin, winced at the stealthy snick of steel parting tender flesh.

A tentative laugh made him start. 'Are you all right? I have some salts somewhere….'

'Don't be snide.' He folded his arms at her teasing. 'Is this really going to help?'

The man bleeding before them was grey, clammy and seemingly oblivious to the strangely draconian procedure the girl was performing upon him. Mai reached to touch the young mans forehead, her slender fingers tenderly brushing damp tendrils from his brow. Cal 's stomach yielded to a sudden lurch, and he baulked at the stupidity of the reaction. Resentful of a dangerously sick man? The very notion was absurd. Nonetheless, the stab of envy still prickled.

'He sweats almost constantly, but his fever is still strong. He is very weak.' The girl crouched beside the man, her face pensive. 'I can get water into him, but if he does not rouse for food soon, he won't have the strength to fight for much longer.' She grasped a strip of white cloth, and began to wind it about the crook of the man's arm, binding the sliced flesh tightly, before removing the bowl that had collected the blood. 'I can only hope that this will work. If not….'

'Mai, please tell me that you have done this before.'

'I am quite familiar with the technique. Not in the practical sense maybe, but….' Cal gave her an incredulous look and the girl lowered her gaze to stare pensively at the blood slicking the bowl. 'I saw Nath try this once in a similar situation. It's the only thing left to try.' She bit her lip as her gaze slid to the floor once again. 'Cal, I wouldn't want to harm anyone. I really am here to help.'

'I know that, Mai. I believe you.'

'But the others say…'

'To the Blight with what others say.' 

Her eyes widened at his vehement retort. 

Cal cleared his throat. 'I should warn you that I have an annoying tendency not to believe everything I hear.'

Much to his relief, the girl's shock melded into a grateful smile. 'That's good to know.' Her head lowered until tendrils of her hair hid her face from him. His eyes instinctively sought hers in the crimson-filled bowl. 

'Cal, are _you_ all right?' A frown touched her mirrored brow. 'I didn't see you yesterday, and you look a little pale.'

'I felt a touch sick, that's all. Probably ate too much -- '

He almost backed away as a pale hand suddenly reached for his forehead. Blue eyes searched his. 'Do you feel sick now? Have you had any headaches? Or trembling? Any fits of coughing?'

His cold hand clasped hers. 'No sickness, no headaches. Definitely no coughing.'

Cal was certain that she would sense the lie. He had a roaring headache, and a stomach tender with vitriolic biliousness that could only be the consequence of all that brandy he had thrown down his neck the previous evening. The trembling, however, was the result of another cause entirely. He released her a little abruptly, and her pale hand hovered between them for a startled moment.

'Cal, you have probably heard about yesterday. About what happened, I mean. 

'I told you, I make it a habit to not listen to idle gossip.' 

The girl gave him a look filled with such gratitude that he was torn between wanting to clasp her in his arms or shake from her an explanation of why she had been tearing the place with screams yesterday. Or why her tent was deserted when he had gone to check on her last night. Or, and, oh, how this one gnawed at his mind, why he had found Mat also missing after thinking to ask if the younger man had seen the girl. His clenched teeth caused his thudding head to heat with pain, and he consciously relaxed his muscles. The girl was smiling at him. It was hard to believe that those lips had only yesterday been pealing the screams that had chilled his heart. 

Light, but how he wished he had run to her, how he yearned to have been the one to reach her first. Perhaps then she would favour him with something more than those insufferably polite smiles. Better still, he wished that she had not come here at all. Then he wouldn't feel like his innards were constantly churning, then his mind wouldn't be torn somewhere between utter peace and a deep, sick loathing. But beneath the quiet and the agony, there was always the yearning, that ridiculous hunger to touch her porcelain skin, to smooth a finger down the soft curve of her neck. Her eyes were still on him, her long lashes spooling lithe shadows on her white cheek. How he longed to feel her, to trace a fingertip over that faint, unbearable smile.

His hand trembled then moved, drifted towards her face…. 

'No!'

The bowl tumbled from Mai's grip, spilling a glut of thickened blood to the floor. The girl gaped at him, as though mesmerised by the odorous, metallic tang spiking the balmy air, before turning to the source of that hoarse cry.

Her tentative step took her close to the man now staring up at them with wild eyes, his painfully thin breast heaving with effort. A hand reared to grasp her cable of hair, yanking her face to meet a wildly livid glare. 'No. Do not….'

Cal lunged towards the bed, alarmed by the horrid pallor of the pair locked almost face to face. He grasped the man's wrist, repulsed and horrified by how frail it felt in his own firm grasp, and pried the boy's fingers from Mai's rope of hair. He caught her as she staggered and both watched the boy fall back on the bed, his hair splayed wetly on the cushion.

The boy's eyes fluttered open to fix on the girl, and his lips parted as though to utter one last cry before his body seemed to unfurl with a light sigh, his muscles relaxing with an almost fluid grace.  

Cal felt the girl's light body wrench from his own as she darted back to the bed. Her hand drifted from the boy's throat to his brow. Cal watched in silence, his head throbbing with the thunder in his chest. 'Has…? Is he…gone?'

She lifted her face. 'No. _It's gone.'_

'What?'

'The fever has broken'. Her smile was like a new dawn. 

Cal slumped onto a nearby pallet, his stomach alive with an unpleasant series of small lurches. 'Well I for one wish he'd chosen a less dramatic way to let us know.'

Her breathy laugh echoed his sentiment. 'It certainly seems as though this place is determined to succeed in frightening the wits from me.' 

'What do you mean?'

Cal saw her wince as she raised a small hand to knead the nape of her neck. 

'Oh, nothing.  Just that adjusting to life here has been more than a little eventful at times.'

And all events that he had managed to have no part in. 

The girl gave a strained little laugh, as though to break the sudden silence. 'Well, I'm glad you were here to rescue me.'

He felt his lips curl into a vicious smile. 'Next time you're in such mortal danger, just scream. I'm sure you'll find a more worthy rescuer in no time at all.' That sweet loathing welled once again at her sudden flinch, and he felt the reassuring bite of his nails digging into his palm. 'I'm just teasing, Mai. After all, I only managed to save you from the grasp of a half-dead man. Hardly heroic of me.' He went to her then, clasped her hand suddenly in his and pressed a small kiss onto her soft skin. 'Now, why don't I get us something to clean that up?' 

Fists clenched, he strode from the tent, leaving the girl to stare at the red pool now slowly seeping into the ground.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

(**A/N** – Right, I'm experimenting with a new, pared-down style which means….no more ridiculously long words ***gasp***.

That's right, It's taken a whole fourteen chapters to get over that using-lots-of–long-words-to-try-and-sound-clever  hurdle, but I think I'm finally getting there.

Of course, now the story might be even worse, which is why I need your help. Yes, that means you my anonymous friends. If this reading this chapter creates a searing agony of boredom, please tell me. Of course, if you sort of liked it, even a tiny bit, you can tell me about that too. If nothing else, you'll get my undying admiration, nay, adoration for being so jolly kind. Speaking of which…. 

**Laughing Dragoness** – Hullo and thanks for dropping me a line. Tuon, you say? Well, it might be interesting to write something about that feisty little minx, but she's not going to pop up in this fic. This little story takes place around the time that WoT world started to get really, _really_ warm. I suppose that would set it sometime around book six, so no Olver, no Tylin and definitely no Tuon. Sorry.

**Virago** – Look? What look? *whistles* Oh, all right, there might have been a teeny, tiny little glance, but I'm not telling : ) Big, big thanks for your review – they always make me feel all smug and grin-ful.

**Meg** – Thanks for the review. As you can see, all thoses pleases paid off!

By the way, there might be a few discrepancies in this chapter with regards to certain individuals, but I'm willing to overlook them if you lot are. Right, without any further ado, let's get this show on the road….)

**DISCLAIMER** – I know, I know. I'm a shameless fraud. 

**Chapter Fifteen**

Giving Pips a sympathetic pat, Mat heaved a sigh and headed into the bustling street. It was all he could do to stop his stomach from heaving.

He had never seen so many flies in one place. Or rats, for that matter. The town was all but crawling with the craven creatures. On his last visit the darkness had concealed the filth, and the chill air had served to blanket the stench. Today, in the unforgiving sunlight and its spoiling heat, Laybridge was revolting. 

Townsfolk butted at his shoulders as they jostled past, faces cramped with dark scowls. The stench of the countless pats of horse and cattle dung was hardship enough without the added stink an unwashed villager barging into him, and he soon matched the villagers' surliness with a glower of his own. 

As he struggled through the crowd he caught ragged glimpses of buildings lurching at strange angles, as though sagging under the weight of the oppressive air. No two dwellings seemed alike apart from their shared shabbiness. The deeper he plunged, the worse things got. In the trade quarter, it seemed as though whole streets were on the teetering verge of collapse.

Countless traders hawked their wares in the shadows of these ramshackle buildings, yelling at one another in thickly accented barks. Mat made sure his eyes never strayed from his path for too long, never showed anything other than disinterest. Already small children had begun to trail him, occasionally plucking at his coat or darting into his path before scuttling away as though fearing a kick or cuff to the head. Their clothes were little more than rags hanging from their spindly bodies but any show of coin would likely end up with him having his skull cracked by the burly men who lounged outside the many inns. They eyed him with lazy contempt as he hurried by, and little wonder. He stood out like a lamb in a flaming fox den. Mat swept off his hat to fan himself and tried to temper his scowl. 

As he rounded a corner, a gaggle of women spilled from doorway tavern, sprawling into his path with a waft of ale and perfume. There was a crackle of raucous laughter as they tried to right themselves, all flailing arms and breathless curses. Despite their shabby dresses, the women were alive with colour. For some reason, they had stitched their skirts with ribbons that fluttered from hip to hem. Even their hair was braided and coiled with the bright streams of fabric. The messy hues were beginning to give him a headache. Mat edged around the cluster of women, and had almost managed to escape unnoticed when a female of generous proportions careered into him with an unlovely '_oof_'.

The woman's dangerously exposed bosom quivered as she righted herself with a giggle. 

'Oh, thank you dearie. Most kind of you, most kind.' 

Trying to steady the woman without touching her more considerable attributes wasn't easy. He had only just escaped her flattening him a second time when her pale eyes rolled to meet his. 

A beer-tinged gasp escaped her. 'Here, Myrt,' she breathed. 'Would you look at this.' 

A scrawny woman was beside him in a second. As she thrust her peering face towards him, a low croon drifted from her thin lips. 'Well, I'll be burned.' Her bony hand was suddenly against forehead, pressing so that his head tilted towards the light. 'Don't see that often 'round here.'

'More's the pity, eh?' The other chuckled, her gaze narrowing.  

He swallowed. Those eyes were an odd colour, pale as sickly skies, but they had the glint of a weasel – a weasel that had just cornered a very juicy rabbit. He had just managed to hop clear of the pair's reach when the other women fluttered around him like a swarm of gaudy moths.

'Aren't they pretty?' One declared with a shrewish giggle. 

'Lovely.' Another slurred, although her pallid eyes seemed a little unfocused. 

Fearing that a mauling would begin at any moment, Mat cleared his throat. 'Excuse me, ladies, but I really must—' 

A chorus of whooping erupted. 

'Did you hear that, Myrt? He called us 'ladies'.

'Aye, he's new to this place, all right.' The skinny woman's slitted gaze was making him sweat almost as much as the broiling heat.  Her eyes were also that wan blue, faded as sun-bleached linen. 'But we'll give him a welcome to remember.'

A snickering murmur of assent followed. Mat darted a glance over the women and backed away. The perfumed mob pressed closer. He gave a pleading smile. The sea pale, wintry eyes lost not one jot of their predatory glimmer. 

With a queasy jolt that always seemed to accompany thoughts of Rand these days, Mat remembered how girls from home would coo and sigh over his friend's grey gaze. In his sulkier moments, he used to wonder why Rand found the attention so off-putting. Now it was all becoming horribly clear.

When one of the women made a lunge for him, Mat only just managed to leap aside. 'Now really, I don't care how much you like my eyes, there's no excuse –' 

'It's no longer your eyes we're interested in, dearie,' one declared with a positively wicked smile.

A loud creak of hinges distracted Mat from his plight. 

A man had emerged from the doorway of the nearest inn, his eyes taking in the scene before settling upon Mat. He gestured at the women with a knotted cudgel. 'These bothering you?'

The skinny woman planted her fists on bony hips. 'We're not bothering no one, you big oaf. Now keep your fat nose out and let us be.'

'Come on now, Myrtie, leave the lad alone.' The cudgel swayed in the man's meaty fist, at odds with his cajoling tone. 'I'll not have you scaring away potential customers.'

'Customers? What flaming customers? Your inn is as dead as the rest of this bloody place.'

With a loud thud, the man's foot thumped a wooden pail. The women shrieked as they clutched at skirts and lurched from the scum-frothed water.

The fat woman glared at the man, her face crimson. 'To the Dark One with you, Selwyn Wern, you and your stinking, filthy dreg-pit both.'

'Oh, don't be like that, petal. Come back tomorrow, and there'll be a mug for all of you. On the house.'

'Not bloody likely.' Myrt flounced her tattered skirts and, with a parting glower that included Mat, tottered along the street with the rest of her ragged mob trailing behind.

He turned to the innkeeper with an abashed grin. 'Sorry about that.'

The man chuckled. 'They'll be back. Those harridans would slit their throats before they'd miss a free ale.' 

'Still, you have my thanks.' 

The fellow looked surprised at his low bow. 'Light, you're really not from these parts. Yet you have the mark of an Andorman about you, and the speech.' Keen eyes raked over his fine, if rumpled, coat. 'Are you a lord?'

'No. Just a soldier.'

'Indeed. And what business would a soldier have in a flyspeck town like this?'

Mat hid his growing discomfort with a shrug. The fellow's gaze seemed a little too intent for his liking. 'Nothing of interest, I'm afraid, but I would be glad of your help. I mean to find the Standard of Laybridge.'

The man's considerable brows lifted. 'And I though I was rescuing a paying customer.' He held up a broad palm as Mat reached for his coin. 'Merely a jest, boy. I can tell you where the Standard is, though why you would want to go there is a mystery. Old Rinna has more salt than any of those lot put together.'

'Oh, we've already met.'

 His voice must have been more rueful than he intended for Selwyn gave another deep chuckle. 'And not eager to do so again, by the sound of things. No many are, unless she owes you money. In that case, you have my sympathies. That one is tighter than a sow's snout.' The man shook his head. 'Forgive my rambling, lad. You've not far to go. Just follow your path to the square and head for the smithy. It's in near sight from there.'

'Master innkeeper, you have my thanks.'

'Indeed. And might I have the pleasure of knowing who's indebted to me?'

'Thom.' Mat gave the man a tight smile. 'Thom Grinwell.'

'Well, Thom, luck be with you. I've no doubt you'll need it.' 

With that, the men hefted the cudgel to his shoulder and lumbered through the doorway. Mat waited until the heavy door thumped behind the innkeeper before heading for the end of the street, but his shoulder blades still prickled until he rounded a lichen-crusted wall.

He released a long-held curse as he hurried for the noise of the square, a sprawling mass of animals and humans, all milling amongst the clutter of stalls. Mat strolled through the throng, casting swift glances he hoped would draw as little attention to his eyes as possible. Peering about in such a ridiculous fashion made it hard for him to spot anything in the busy square. He yanked his hat lower and finally took a good look at his surroundings. 

The only thing revealed to him was that he was lost, with not a distinguishing feature in sight. 

A peek over his shoulder only revealed more stalls, more people and what appeared to be a very familiar innkeeper. 

Mat blinked at the sight of Selwyn Wern heaving through the crowd, that cudgel clasped in a huge fist. There was nothing jovial about the man now. His pale, narrowed gaze slid over the crowd with the cool ease of a hawk. Mat had no doubt as to what those eyes were seeking. 

'Burn me for a bloody fool.' He swept off his hat and hunched his shoulders, but he was still taller than most of the people who jostled past. With another curse, Mat shoved his way through a group of men loudly haggling over a handful of skinny goats. 

Chickens scattered before him as penned animals bleated and bawled, and the din of the creatures and braying shouts soon began to rasp at his nerves.  The innkeeper was still hunting him, although the way his eyes meandered over the crowd gave Mat hope that he had not caught sight of his quarry. 

He ducked into the overhang of a gaudy stall, its shape all but hidden by streams of fluttering fabric. As his fingers worried the sleek coils of the coloured wares he saw Wern stride past, close enough for Mat to see beads of sweat wend down the mans slick jowls. Now all he had to do was avoid the cudgel-wielding idiot and find the flaming smithy.  He briefly considered asking the woman before him until she gave him a carious smile.

'A very pretty colour, sir. Any lady would think themselves lucky to have such a gift from their young man.'

Mat tracked Wern as he vanished into the crowd before glancing at what he held. He winced. Pink. For some reason, the colour made him even nervier. He dropped the ribbon back into the myriad of strands and grasped a spin of satin that shone quietly amongst the rest. He absently reached for his coin as he eyed the woman. He took the risk. 'The Standard. Do you know where I can find it?'

The woman gave another toothless smile as she waved a bony hand. 'Why, just there, good sir.' 

Mat dropped a flurry of coins onto the stall. The woman fawned her thanks as he stuffed the ribbon in his pocket, catching a fleeting glimpse of brilliant blue as it flashed by. The din soon swallowed the stall-keeper's garbled gratitude as he strode away.

After dodging a pungent stall selling some form of small, charred and thoroughly unrecognisable creature, Mat finally saw the Standard of Laybridge rear before him, looking every bit as shabby and decrepit as his laden memory served. 

A child was sitting on an upturned rain-barrel outside the inn, hurling a knotted wad of old, rotting hide at a cracked wall before catching it and repeating the ritual. The boy didn't take his eyes from Mat as he passed, but carried on flinging the ball with easy contempt, snatching it from the air with a clawed hand. 

Casting a quick glance through the grimy window, Mat could see that the tavern was having no trouble attracting customers this day. Rowdy taunts and laughter billowed from the place, swirling with the cloying smell of bad tabac and tepid ale.  

The child began to recite a cradle-ditty as he stalked by, although the words were quite different from the ones that had carried him to sleep as a babe. He ignored the child's increasingly lewd chant and hurried towards the alleyway where Nath boasted his excuse for an establishment.

What he saw when he arrived made him spit a particularly nasty epithet.

The healer's sign had been torn from its bracket and slammed through a window where it lay jammed amid a jagged portcullis of glass.  Most of the other windows had also been shattered, despite what looked to be an attempt to protect the precious glass with worm-riddled boards, and the splintered door gaped at him in a wide, listless yawn. 

He stood for a long moment, mutely glaring at the assaulted building before wandering through the door. 

The place reeked of the herbs now strewn over the gritted floor, the smells growing more cloying as leaves and buds crushed beneath his slow steps. The hearth was cold and long dead, streaked with mounds of grey, pitted ash, and only a handful of the small, vicious instruments were casting sinister glints from the wall amid a pattern of pale, spiked patches. Shattered jars and phials littered the floor with vicious jags, their syrupy contents staining the floorboards as they oozed a slow descent through the dark, splintered wood. 

Something moved before him, a shadow amongst shadows. He scowled at the large rat as it scrabbled beneath a rotted board, its round, guileful eye glinting. Other than he, it was the only occupant now.

His jaw clenched. Too late. Too bloody late.

A loud whistle pierced the silence. When the sharp note had faded, Mat strode from the building, eyes narrowed against the light. The sound seemed to have come from the direction of that infernal inn, and Mat had almost convinced himself that it was the strange child trying to rile him when he heard the clatter of approaching hooves. The street was too narrow for himself and a mounted visitor. Besides, he was not exactly in the mood for conversation.

He ducked into a nearby alleyway and cursed when he realised it was blind. With no option other than to wait it out. Mat leaned a shoulder to the wall and sighed.

A russet horse trotted into view, its oiled hooves flickering in the light.

Mat's sigh faded to a croak.

With a delicate chime of chain mail, a Whitecloak slid from the gelding, looping the polished reigns over the steed's sleek head. Mat edged deeper into the alley, his eyes fixed on the newcomer.  Armour polished to glittering silver glowed beneath a shimmering cloak. 

As the man turned to the empty healer's den, Mat saw something that made his stomach sink even further. Emblazoned on that white cloak, like a streak of freshly spilled blood, was a red shepherds crook. 

The cloak dimmed as the man entered the house, its brilliance fading to a pale spectre in the darkness. Mat hissed as he unclenched cramped fists. Too soon, the white shape was growing sharper, the chink of spurs louder. 

Mat was easing more distance between himself and the unwelcome guest when a low rumble sounded in the shadowed alley, deep and dark enough to make the sweat chill on his fevered skin. Something was hunched in the gloom, close enough for him to feel hot, panting breath. Close enough to see the slick gleam of long, wet teeth. 

Swallowing against a bitter tang that tasted suspiciously like panic, Mat pressed his back against the slimed wall. A swift glance told him that the Whitecloak was nearing, and he had a fleeting, worrying insight that the man would soon start inspecting the alleyway for what he sought. The low growl deepened into a snarl. Mat edged a hand to his belt and slowly inched for a knife, his fingers aching with urgency. 

Through his silent litany of blistering oaths, Mat heard the snarl stutter and stop. His heart bludgeoning, Mat sucked a deep breath, certain his last sight would be a raging maw of jagged teeth.

The silent creature stood before him, a black shape with glittering eyes. Mat let his eyes slide closed when the thing reached for him….and ran a warm tongue over the back of his shaking hand. He could only gape as a gangling dog trotted from the gloom, its pink tongue bobbing in its dripping, grinning jowls.

Fighting a sudden surge of laughter, Mat wiped the drool from the back of his hand and hoped that the hound would stay silent. And friendly.

It seemed content to stare at him, tail swishing puffs of dry dirt. He glared at it, willed the dog to just stay still, just a little while longer. No such luck. With a whining yawn, the creature turned and loped into the darkness - and disappeared.

Mat barely caught the knife as it slipped from his slack fingers. With a last glance at the Whitecloak, who was now blinking into the alleyway, Mat crouched in pursuit of the dog. His eyes now accustomed to the lack of light, he cursed aloud when he spotted a fissure in the crumbling stone. 

The frowning Whitecloak arrowed a glare into the alley. Mat darted through the gap and found himself behind what looked, and smelled, like a very neglected stable. 

His reluctant rescuer was sniffing a matted wad of hay, its ears twitching as it turned a bloodshot gaze upon him. As the dog trotted off again, Mat had a sudden suspicion he had seen the beast before. Frowning, he followed the creature as it padded from view.

Mat hugged himself to the rotting stable door and stole a look, his muscles tensed for a ready escape. 

A sole figure stood near a listing stable, saddling a shabby, tired looking mare. From the way the man was cursing and grunting, he was clearly having trouble hefting the worn looking saddle onto the horses back. The dog dropped to its haunches beside the horse and turned its large, reproving eyes upon Mat.

'_Dovienya_.'

The big man paused, his shoulders suddenly stiff. Mat didn't bother to hide his grin as the man slowly turned. When he spied Mat, his bloodless face went slack.

Mat waited, hand now clasped tightly around his dagger, lips still curled from his teeth. 'Hello, Nath.'

'Light, boy, don't sneak up on people like that. Old hearts aren't as strong, you know?'

His smile slipped a notch. What was the matter with the man? If Mat didn't know better, he would have thought the fool was relieved. 

'Come to give her back, have you? Well, it's too late. By the time you bring her, I'll be long gone.' The man's clear gaze seemed almost amused.

Mat tilted the knife so it caught the sunlight. 'Not before you answer a few questions.' 

'And all to do with that little hoyden, no doubt.' He gave the knife a disgusted look. 'Oh, put that away. I've no time for heroics.'

Mat gritted his teeth. 'Who is she?'

'She _was_ my healer, until you spirited her away. Don't think that I'm not grateful, mind you. I feel better than I have in years.' 

He must have looked as surprised as he felt, for the man gave a wheezy chortle.

'Surely you didn't think I would be angry that you took her? My boy, I owe you more than you can realise. I would bought you a drink or two, had I the time.'

Feeling suddenly foolish, Mat lowered the dagger. 'What are you doing?'

'What does it look like I'm doing?' Nath gave him a wry look as his fingers fumbled at a weathered strap. 'You're not as bright as I thought, lad. Haven't you noticed the newcomers? The place is crawling with them. Best to get out before their bite gets too deep.'

'You're leaving? Then why haven't you come looking for Mai?'

Nath swept a hand across his brow and sighed. 'Have you not been listening? I no longer want her. Feel free to keep her. Bloody marry her for all I care.'

'What? Why would….?'

'I should have known that you would come here. I sized you as a soft-touch, you and that friend both.' A chubby hand waved away Mat's protests. 'Listen, for this is all I am going to tell you. The girl is someone I took pity on. Someone I chose to help. Now that she has someone else to latch onto, I no longer have to worry.'

Mat snorted, his hand tightening on the dagger hilt. 'Some help. I saw what you did to her.'

'Ah, given you the inevitable tale of woe, has she? Still, you don't look like one to be fooled that easily. Let me guess what else she has shown you. Bruises? Nasty looking welts too, I'll wager. True, the person who gave her those deserved to be punished. But it wasn't me, boy. I never laid a hand on her.'

'Then who did?' 

The man gave a shrug of his rounded shoulders, his eyes hooded and almost sorrowful. 'That's not for me to say.'

'All right. Why don't you try telling me something useful before you turn tail? Like maybe her real name? Or why she can remember nothing about her past? Why she's half delirious because of some flaming nightmares?'

Nath gave another weary shrug. 'All things I cannot give you an answer for, my young friend. Listen, it is good you have chosen to help her. Light knows she needs all she can get. But for your own sake, keep your distance. Some problems just can't be solved. The girl is one of them.'

The sound of approaching footsteps roused the two men. Mat scowled at the alleyway he had so recently ducked from. He flipped the dagger, held it by its wicked point.

'Don't be so stupid, boy.'

He glared at Nath, saw that the man had managed to hoist himself into his saddle. Pale eyes rested on his and, for the briefest of moments, Mat saw sorrow in that faded gaze. 

The steps were growing louder. Mat ducked into the shade of a stable, sheathing the knife in his sleeve with a snarl. 

'Boy!' His gaze jerked up. Nath had faltered, his broad face pained. 'Look to Farwell.' 

The questions still burning in his throat, Mat watched the man put heel to the steeds flank and gallop from sight. 

****oOo****

'Blood and bloody flaming ashes!'

Mai sucked at her finger and glared at the prickle-pip. It somehow managed to look smug in its hiding place beneath the broad, flat leaves. She squeezed her finger, hoping to draw the poison with the tiny bead of blood, and scowled at the plant. Useless thing. Her hand grasped a shard of flint before she realised there was little point wasting her energy hacking at thing's knotted roots. They had tried all sorts of ways to make prickle-pip useful; crushed out unwilling juices with flat press, dried it in hot afternoon sun, pulped it into gristle, boiled it into mash. Nath had eventually given up hope of finding any medicinal properties in spiny little bud, but that had not stopped him from wrangling the doomed venture to his advantage. 

The memory twitched an unwilling smile to her lips. The sky had been dark that day, the clouds as densely packed as the crowds gathered below to watch Nath proclaim his newest 'tonic' – _a potent compound of the finest, revitalizing herbs, ladies and gentleman! _– as the answer to all ails from bunions to dropsy.  

_'Make use of the bad things in life, Mai,' _His eyes were cold as the glittering spoils of his deceit. _'Let the good things take care of themselves.'_

Scowling, Mai plucked a dark leaf, chewed it for moment then pressed the damp pulp onto the complaining pad of flesh. Her cracked, reddened palms looked feverish in the sunlight. He had certainly made use of her, no doubt about that. Well, she was not going to leave the good things to chance. She tested her injured finger; the sting had dwindled to the merest of aches. She would take care of herself. 

Brushing dried moss and crushed leaves from her breeches, Mai strode to her small basket. It had been a decent morning's work; Silverslip leaves, Patch blossoms and even a handful of greyish Slippery Gills lay carefully placed in the basket. The last would be perfect for that loud fellow – Nalesean she thought his name was – who had yet to stop complaining about the 'unbearable' ache in his throat. A wicked smile played about her lips. If the mushroom did nothing for the ache, the taste would at least be a distraction.

Mai gathered the basket and headed for the camp, pausing now and then to inspect a sprig of green or pluck a stippled flower for her basket before hurrying on. Greying leaves and dead branches that crunched under her boots with a pleasing snap. She kicked at these winter remnants, sent then spinning into the air to settle behind her with a whispering sigh. 

She trailed the snake-brown curves of the sluggish stream, pungent and crackling with flies and the little creatures that so enjoyed fastening upon her damp flesh, slowed to peer at the tiny, tailed creatures minnowing beneath the murky water.

But the day was too hot for such meandering, the air dry as a kiln. By the time she emerged from the wood her lungs ached and her skin was slick with sweat. With a quick glance to make sure no one was nearby, she knotted her shirt beneath her chest and sighed. The humid air did little to cool the moisture on her belly, but it was a relief nonetheless.

She was halfway to the camp when she spotted the dust, a pale wisp against the piercing sky. Perhaps it was Mat. She had spent half the morning looking for him, but no one seemed to know where he had gone. A suspicion had begun to bud in her mind, but she stifled it with a flush. He was probably just with the rest of the men, drinking or dicing now that they were on the mend. After all, there was no reason why he should visit Nath, not when he had already done so much. He had probably only suggested it so she would stop bawling like a simpleton.

But that would not explain the dirt churned up on the track. 

She walked slowly towards the tents that seemed to be float above the shimmering haze of a phantom river, clear as white flame searing through the barren sweep of brown. 

Heading for the infirmaries, she marvelled at the quiet after the warring bird-chatter of the small wood. It did not take long, however, for wonder to yield to concern.

It was too quiet. There should have been at least some sounds; laughter, cursing, the low complaint of one still in discomfort. Even a coughing fit would have been welcome. But there was nothing. Nothing save for her and the gaping silence.

'Hello?' She clasped her small harvest to her chest and wove carefully between the tents with wide, searching eyes. Voices reached her as she approached the farthest tents, hushed, quick voices. 

Mai hurried towards the sounds, frowning with something between annoyance and relief.

What she found made her stop suddenly enough to jolt an Eyebright flower from her basket. 

Contraptions that looked very much like snug cottages on wheels were huddled beyond the empty infirmaries, all smeared with violent colours that instantly set a small ache behind her left eye.

'Looks like fortune's smiling on us at last, eh Mai?'

She wrenched her gaze from the strange carriages to see Estean waving at her from a group of milling soldiers. He appeared to have made a remarkable recovery. In fact, the young lord was all but bounding with delight.

Estean was not the only one grinning at the spectacle. His fellows all seemed equally pleased, all signs of illness eclipsed by their jubilant smiles. 

Mai waved absently in response, her eyes once again drawn to the visitors.

A handful of men were leaning against the carriages, garbed in colours that could only be described as nauseating. Their tawny faces were studies of indifference, but that could not detract from the fine line of their profiles or their dark, penetrating eyes. One turned his dark gaze upon her and she glanced away, her face suddenly hot.

There were females too, and they seemed a great deal more interested in the camps inhabitants. They huddled near the narrow steps of their strange carriages, giggling and fluttering coy lashes when their dusky faces weren't obscured by bright handkerchiefs or dainty, be-ringed hands. Estean's gaggle seemed to find this simpering somewhat disarming. Mai thought the performance rather silly.

After a few moments a young man detached himself from the group to approach the cluster of Band soldiers. He walked with a sinuous grace, almost as though he was stepping from a dance, and Mai felt a curious quiver in her stomach as he glanced at her. Estean gave the approaching man a polite, if hesitant, smile. The newcomer appraised the young lord with large, dark eyes. 

'What's going on?'

Cal was scowling at the visitor's, his face unusually hard. 

'I don't know. I just arrived here with Estean and --' She let the words fade with a shrug.

The blonde man folded his arms. 'Well, what do they want?' 

She barely had chance to reply when Cal suddenly strode to the man staring at Estean in benign silence. 

'Excuse me.' 

Those liquid eyes slid to Cal. 'Yes?'

'Might I enquire as to what business you have here?'

'Are you the leader of these men?' The man's voice was softly melodic, its gentle timbre belying the brevity of his question.  

Cal hesitated. 'Well, no.' He managed finally, clearly disarmed by the man's quiet manner.

'I am sorry, but we would wish to speak with him first.'

A magpie chattered in the silence.

'Very well.' Cal breezed with admirable composure. 'I shall arrange for a meeting forthwith.'

Cal gave a small bow before strolling to Mai, a wry twist to his lips. 'And I was always led to believe that Tinkers had no manners.'

Mai stifled a snort as Cal stopped beside her, his lips quirked in a tight little smile. 

There soon descended an uncomfortable silence, peppered only with chatter of the magpie and the breathy giggles of the women. The incessant snickers were beginning to stretch her nerves.  Mai flickered a glance at them only to discover that she appeared to be the source of their amusement. Their dark, soot-fringed eyes raked over her before the women joined heads for a discussion seemingly comprised of little more than falsetto sniggers and the occasional muffled whisper. 

Her cheeks flaming with a heat that had nothing to do with the sultry weather, Mai raised a hand to her hair, which only served to create even more laughter. How dowdy she must look to them, how drab in comparison, like some pale, listless moor-flower wilting amid a spray of brightly blushing heartveil. Stomach roiling, she was feverishly grappling for an excuse to leave when a shadow moved on the ground before her. She glanced up to see Cal gently disentangle a wizened willow leaf from a curl of her hair, his usually mobile lips compressed into a thin line. His furrowed brow eased when he saw her eyes upon him, and his reassuring smile somehow took away the sting of that insipid laughter. Mai folded her arms beneath her breasts and stared at the women, the feel of Cal's hand stirring her hair and sliding to rest on her shoulder awakening the unfamiliar heat of rebellion in her. She gave the girls a wide grin.

'Making friends all ready, eh Mai?'

With a flash of a smile, Mat sauntered past, his long shadow stalking before him. His swagger was as carefree as ever, but the rigid set of shoulders and hard set to his jaw made her frown. He had barely stopped before the newcomer when the man spoke.

'Are you the leader of these men?'

'Why of course he is.' The unfamiliar voice was as heady as the balmy air. Mai had never heard its like before, had never heard a voice so ripe with the promise of something dark and secretive. But she soon discovered that the silken contralto was nothing to its bearer. Her breath failed as a raven-haired woman stepped from a gaudy carriage. 

She was like some rare, exotic creature, somehow outshining the brilliance of her vibrant cocoon. Next to her, even the gaggle of young women looked unripe and graceless, their beauty made crude by this woman who seemed the ultimate fruition of the female form. 

If Mai had felt like a moor-weed before, now she felt like the dirt it wilted in. 

The woman's appearance had been timed to perfection. The sunlight falling upon her like an aura of golden light, gilding her midnight hair and sliding over the contours of sleek curves. Pausing at the top of the steps, as though to savour the impact of her appearance, the woman began a slow descent, her small, slippered feet barely peeping from the folds of her full gown so she seemed to glide to the ground. 

Mai managed to wrench her eyes away from this vision only to be met with the vacant stares of several dozen very smitten men. Estean was gaping openly at the woman, and Mai found herself willing a passing insect to speed into the man's slack mouth. The male members of her entourage were regarding the woman with open pride, clearly enjoying the reaction she inspired, whilst the females had drawn back, faces covered with shimmering shawls and all frivolity abandoned.

Her face still bathed with glowing sunlight, the woman walked towards Mat, her body sashaying with near improbable grace. 'Can you not see the mark of leadership on him?'

The words were like soft caresses, and Mai found herself afraid to look at Mat, feeling strangely and desperately worried that she would see that glaze of adulation on his features.

'Hello, Tillalia.'

She glanced up at his dry response in time to glimpse his equally droll expression before two, small hands grasped a handful of hair, and pulled his face down to press against full lips. It was Mai's turn to gape as she watched the kiss, the most thorough and downright indecent thing she had witnessed, take place before her eyes.

Several of the congregated men gave breath to low whistles and cheers. Behind her, she felt Cal's body quake with low laughter.

Her face was flaming when the woman finally released him. Mat stepped back with a slightly bemused expression.

'Nice to see you still approve of a warm welcome, Tillalia.' He grinned, adjusting his hat, which had gone askew during the proceedings.

The woman gave a throaty chuckle. 'Why do you think I enjoy travelling so much?'

Mat rubbed at his nose and gave a slightly crooked smile. Mai's hand itched to slap something. 

'Am I right in assuming you wish to hold company with us for a few days?'

'No, just for tonight.' She smiled at his raised eyebrow. 'Oh, don't be such a prude. I promise not to corrupt any of these charming little fellows.' Her smoky eyes trawled over the gathered men before finally lingering on Cal. 'With a few exceptions, of course.'

'You should leave.'

With the weight of all those glares upon her, Mai blushed to the roots of her hair, her head suddenly light with panic.  'I mean, there has been a sickness here. Many of the men are still unwell. I would not wish you - well, any of you - to fall to it.'

Tillalia glanced at Mat, who gave Mai a small, skewed smile. 'Our healer is right.'

Dark eyes glinted. 'I thank you for your….concern, child. But we are a hardy people, both in nature and spirit. We have no fear of falling to this sickness.'

Mass eyes slid to Mai again, and the waning blush returned with vigour. 'I just thought I would warn you. That's all.' 

She made a solemn vow to administer herself a strong kick when she was alone. What would make her say such a stupid thing? She spent a few moments on silent self-recrimination for her foolishness. Cal's hand did not return to her shoulder and, for some reason, she felt its absence as keenly as the dreadful shame.

'Mai does have a point, Tilly.'

Mai eased a breath into her lungs, and even managed to raise her eyes a little. She focused her gaze on Tillalia's silk slippers.

'You're more than welcome to stay here for the evening, but perhaps it would be best if you do not enter the heart of the camp. That way, you won't be disturbing those still resting in the infirmaries.'

'Such touching concern becomes a man.' Tillalia's voice was a silken purr.

Mai nearly choked. Those dark, flashing eyes had not seemed to find _her _concern the slightest bit becoming. Mat was still smiling in that ridiculous fashion as a jewelled hand rose to touch his cheek. The fond gesture was somehow even more intimate than the kiss.

'Then we shall remain here.  Those feeling lively enough are welcome to join us for the evening.' Her eyes sought and held Mai's as faint smile curved her full lips. Then her small hand rose to strike its counterpart sharply and the visitors flurried into movement, chatting and laughing as they began unloading wagons and unfettering horses.

As she turned to face Cal, Mai was startled to realise that he had somehow slipped away from the proceedings. 

'Drop something?'

She spun quickly enough to almost collide with Mat.  A small 'Oh,' forced its way through her lips. 

Mat steadied her with a grin. 'Seems to be the perfect day for having women throw themselves at me.' 

She plucked the blossom from his grasp and tossed it into the basket. 'Thank you.'

'What's wrong? You look a little….red. You're not sick are you? 

'Sick? Me? No, I'm just warm. It's very hot, don't you think?' She made a show of fanning a hand before her face, but the thought of the heat made her painfully aware of the sweat dappling her bare stomach. Her face quickly flamed with renewed vigour.

Mat blinked at her. 'Right, well, it seems we have some visitors for the night. Do you have any herbs?' He groped for an explanation. 'What I mean is do you have anything that could stop the sickness from spreading to our guests?'

'A preventative?'

His smile made her embarrassment dissolve a little. 'That sounds about right. Can you do something?'

'I can mix a brewing compound that may help.'

'Wonderful.' His eyes glanced around, as though making sure there was no one nearby, before he grasped her elbow to draw her away from the bustling newcomers. His deep gaze held her. 'I found him.'

'Nath?' She gasped at his nod. 'Where is he? What did he say?'

'Not much. He seemed in rather a hurry.'

'He's gone? Where?'

'I don't know'

'Why was he leaving without…without telling anyone?' She bit her lip as she studied Mat's face. He merely shrugged, seemingly absorbed in the operations of their visitors.

'He gave the impression that he wasn't happy with the towns newest inhabitants. It seems that the bloody Whitecloaks have taken an interest in the place.'

'The who?'

'Children of the Light. Whitecloaks most call them, although the men have been known to refer to them in less….affectionate terms.'

'Oh, those people.' She breathed. 'They did look a little on the stuffy side.'

'You knew?'

'I saw them a few days ago.'

Mat threw up his hands. 'Why does nobody think to tell me about these bloody things?' He leaned closer. 'They are no friends of ours, Mai. It's very bad news that they have chosen to settle in Laybridge. For all we know, it could be to keep an eye on us.'

'Why would they be interested in you?'

Unable to help himself, Mat snorted, but seemed immediately abashed when he saw the flush in her cheeks. 'I'm sorry. I forget how strange all this must be for you. It's not for you to worry about. I'll make sure that they're watched, all right?'

She nodded. 'How was he?'

'Who?'

'Nath. How did he look?'

'Fat, hairy, a little ragged around the edges.'

 'Poor Nath. I wouldn't want to see him unhappy.'

'Light, Mai. You really are a wonder.' He shook his head. 'Look, I have to go….'

'Mat, who are these people?'

'The Tua'Athan.' There was a subtle accent to the second word, a gentle lilt that seemed to add to its beauty. 'Travelling people. Don't worry, they're harmless.'

Mai wasn't so sure. That Tillalia woman had certainly looked predatory enough.

'Light, I nearly forgot.' His flustered gaze turned suddenly intent. 'Mai, do you know anything about a Farwell?'

She swallowed. 'I've never heard of it. Why?'

Those dark eyes searched her own for a moment before rising to focus above her shoulder. 'I'll tell you later.' He murmured with a distracted smile.

Mai followed his departure, until she realised that the reason for his hurry was Tillalia. She flushed as the woman smiled at her, those sultry eyes almost too knowing. With a grimace, Mai headed from the clearing. 

****oOo****

Tillalia gave him a warm smile as he approached her. 'Your healer seems very…. cautious.'

Mat followed Tillalia's gaze in time to see Mai stride from view. 'As well she should. People have died from this sickness.'

Her small hand briefly touched his arm. 'I'm sorry. I suppose I should seek her out and offer thanks for her concern.' Tillalia paused. 'What was her name again?'

'Mai.'

'Pretty.'

'I suppose so.'

'It certainly doesn't match the rest of her, poor child. Who came up with the idea of dressing her in those dreadful clothes?'

'Believe me, it's a huge improvement on what she used to wear.' 

Tillalia gave a toss of her lustrous hair, clearly unable to comprehend such an idea. 'How long have you had her?'

'A while.' He swallowed past the dryness in his throat and grimaced. 'Why are you so interested, anyway?'

'It's an intriguing situation. All these men, and one sorry looking little girl. It's not a life I should imagine one like her would have chosen.'

'She didn't have much of a choice.'

Tillalia gave a triumphant caw. 'I knew it. You _rescued _her. How heroic.'

'Actually, she pretty much rescued us.' 

The dark woman dismissed the issue with a waft of her hand. 'So, why all the secrecy? What were you two whispering so quietly about?' 

He sighed, feeling suddenly weary to his bones. 'Tillalia, there is no bloody secret. The girl has some problems. I've nothing better to do, so I'm simply helping her a little. That's all.'

'No secret.' She scoffed. 'Where there is a mysterious girl, there is always a secret.'

'Believe what you will. Tell me, did you happen to notice any Whitecloaks prancing around?'

'A few.' Her dark eyes glinted. 'They look rather handsome in all that shimmering steel, don't you think? Have you ever thought about introducing armour to your lot?'

He ignored that. 'Did they look suspicious?'

'We had a few glances. Admiring ones, mostly. Apart from that.' She gave a dainty shrug.

'Does the word 'Farwell' mean anything to you?'

'My, my, aren't we full of questions. And I thought you only came over here for the pleasure of my company.' A laugh shivered the air at his scowl. 'Oh, very well. Farwell, you say?' Tillalia tapped a ruby clasped finger on her smooth cheek. 'No, I don't recognise that name. Is it a place?'

His frown deepened. 'I don't know. I was hoping you could have told me.' 

'I'm guessing that this Farwell is all part of the girl's mysterious past?' She shook her head at his silence. 'Be wary, Mat. Of the girl, I mean. Her type draws willing hearts as blood draws bitemes.'

'What is that supposed to mean?'

'Show a man a pair of big, innocent eyes, and he will all but fall over himself to help the girl behind them. And that girl has just about the most innocent eyes I've ever seen. Have a care, dearest. She's either very clever, or dangerously naïve. Perhaps both.'

'What is it with you women? Always sizing one another like cats in an Ebou Dar kitchen. Besides, you have no reason to worry. Yours are just about the prettiest eyes I've ever seen.'

Her hand reached to pat his cheek. 'Such a nice boy. But heed my advice, Mat. Be wary. Don't let her get too close. And don't lead her to believe that you have any interest in her other than simple kindness.'

'Why, Tillalia. I do believe you are jealous.'

Her shimmering laugh never failed to make him smile. 'I have no time for jealousy, dearheart. There is simply too little time and too many good-looking men for that sort of thing. That terribly pretty blonde fellow, for example.'

Mat gave a discreet cough. 'You might want to consider your attentions there. He seems to have more than a passing interest in our Mai.'

'I thought as much.' Her full lips formed a charming pout. 'Such a shame. It's obvious she has no time for him.'

'Why do you say that?'

Tillalia gave an exasperated little shake of her head. 'Never mind. Oh, and please can you ask the men to refrain from filling the girls head with ludicrous stories.'

'You mean any stories involving swords and heroics.'

'Exactly. Some of the younger ones are rather…. susceptible to ridiculous fantasies of men armed with steel and very little brain. I wouldn't want to lose any to a rogue elopement.'

'It shall be as you command.' He grinned at her. 'Sorry, I'll have a word with them.'

'Good.' Her eyes turned smoky as she gazed at him through thick lashes. 'Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to recall a time when you promised to tell me how you became leader of this army.'

'It's a very long story.'

A slender finger rose to lightly trace his cheek. 'I think you'll find that I can be very attentive.'

'I don't doubt it. But I have things to do.' He lifted her slender wrist to his lips. 'Maybe I can tell you later.'

'Then I shall have to put my time to other use.' Her pout faded to a thoughtful look 'Perhaps I should spend a little time with your doe eyed healer.'

'Now why would you want to do that?'

'She looks like she could do with a little female frippery. Besides, drabness really irritates me.'

'I had noticed.' He stuffed a hand into his pocket. 'Here, take this.'

Tillalia blinked at the small coil of ribbon curled in her palm. 'Why, thank you, Mat. But my tastes are usually a little more expensive.'

'It's for the girl.' He scowled at her arched eyebrow. 'I bought it by accident. Might as well find some use for it.'

'Mark my words, Mat. Be careful.'

He backed away from her before flourishing a dramatic bow. 'When am I not?'

****Oo****

'There you are.'

Mai strode towards the figure hunched cross-legged on the ground. 'I've been looking for you everywhere' She stood before him, fists planted on her hips. 'Where did you go? Shouldn't you be going all cross-eyed over those tinker people like the rest of them?'

She bit her lip as soon as the words left her. She had thought that her prolonged walk had succeeded in tempering her pique. Evidently, she had been wrong. Cal, however, did not look up.

'As you can see, I came here. And no, I'm not particularly excited. After a while, one vapid tinker looks very much the same as another.'

As she sat, Mai had the curious impression that he was leaning away from her. She shifted a little, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Cal was running a whetstone over a narrow blade. It was unlike any sword that Mai had seen. Where she had before seen only a plain cross hilt there was an elaborate morass of slivery metal, and the blades length was so slender that it seemed almost whip-like. It was beautifully elegant, but she could not imagine that it would do much damage against a determined opponent. 'What _is_ that?'

Cal lifted the blade before him, tilted it experimentally in the light. 'Well, I'd say it looks rather like a sword, wouldn't you?'

Mai recoiled as effectively as if she had been slapped. His tone was scathing, as bitter as Stayroot. She had never heard Cal speak to her in such a way, had never thought him possible of such spite. She hugged her knees to her chest.

'It's very delicate.' Was all she could muster.

'Really.'

She swallowed against the hurt welling in her throat. 'Yes. It looks almost…. fragile, don't you think?'

Cal did not even dignify that with a response.

Unable to tolerate this cold, cruel replica of the Cal she knew, Mai rose to her feet. 'I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'll leave you alone.'

She sensed him rise to his feet. Turning slowly, Mai saw that his eyes were finally upon her, their dark blue depths cold and inscrutable behind the edge of the blade.

'Don't move.'

Mai gasped as the sword suddenly whipped through the air, slicing past her face, her limbs, her torso. Cal's hand was a blur, but the sword seemed to vanish, so quickly did it shear past, only visible when the slender blade flickered in the sun, dizzying her with slices of white light. It was too swift for her eyes to follow, so she squeezed them shut and held her breath, flinching at every whip of sound and breath of movement. The keen edge danced about her like a living thing, mocking her fear. She felt something flick a lock of her hair, and almost cried out. Then it stopped. 

'Not so fragile, after all. Appearances can be so deceptive, wouldn't you agree?'

Her eyes flew open to see Cal standing before her, the blade once again held before his face, as though in salute. His blue gaze was reflected in the etched steel, giving it an icy sheen. She had a moment to study this vision of indifference before he lunged. This time, she did cry out, screamed as the narrow blade tip jolted her shoulder. Muscles thrumming, Mai froze, waiting for the hot runnel of blood to slither down her flesh and pain to roar through her body.

The blade floated before her like a solid vein of light. She narrowed her blurred eyes at the mite of movement speared on the tip of that cruel steel; squirming uselessly on the point of the sword was what looked like a hairy, wriggling slug.

'Bane caterpillar.' Flourishing the blade with a practised flick, Cal flung the insect from the sword. He glanced at the creature as it writhed feebly in the dirt, his gaze as dismissive of the small animal as it had been of her only moments before. 'They have a nasty bite.'

Mai's legs felt like they would collapse beneath her. She stiffened her knees as she watched the insect squirm at Cal's feet. 'I'm sorry I've have been such an unwelcome interruption.' Her voice sounded weak, pathetic. 'I shall leave you to…'

She whirled and hurried away, unable to make the words come. She even managed to master the tears until she rounded the tree. Mai pressed her face to her sleeve, but the burning tears were unstoppable. First that Tillalia woman had smirked at her like she was something under her silk shod foot, then Mat was too distracted by the horrid woman to tell her about his visit with Nath, and now Cal was acting like she was nothing more than a nuisance to him. And she had felt so glorious this morning. So ridiculously happy. Now she simply felt dreadful.

'You know, some women can weep, and look all the lovelier for it.'

Mai swiped the tears with a trembling hand as Tillalia approached, gliding over the ground like some stupid, overgrown swan. Her face felt hot and feverish, but the delicate fingers that tilted her chin were blessedly cool. 

Those large, depthless eyes now regarded her with soft concern. 'You are not one of them, my child. If you must insist on bawling in such a dreadful fashion, try and make it brief. Skin as fair as yours gets terribly blotchy.' 

Mai stood dumb as she watched the woman fish a fussy handkerchief from her sleeve.

'Here.' 

Mai obediently dabbed at her cheeks.

'That's a little better. I'm supposed to make you presentable, but I doubt I have a dress pattern to match that gruesome mottled colour you were turning.'

Against her deepest misgivings, Mai gave a watery smile. 

'There, now. You look almost human again' She linked her arm through Mai's. 'Come. Let us find something to dazzle them tonight.'

'Tonight?' She failed to quell a hitching sob. 'No, I don't think I -- '

She squeaked as a deceptively strong hand grasped her forearm. 'My dear child, you shall be there. Even if I have to drag you myself.'


	17. Chapter Sixteen

(A/N - Thanks for stopping by. What you are about to read (and review, I hope) was a real nuisance to write. The original draft was also ridiculously long, so I've lopped the chapter into two parts. Apologies if this section seems a little on the wee side – I promise the second part will be better and posted within the next seven days. Now, on to the good stuff….

**Laughing Dragoness** – Yes, it usually takes me a long time to update. I'm a very, very lazy writer. Thanks for reviewing again. It's always appreciated.

**Poopy** – When are Cal and Mai going to hook up, you ask? In truth, I honestly don't know - I sort of write this thing as I go along. But there's a fair amount of booze flying around in the next few chapters, so you never know….thanks for the review, and I love that you love my story!

**Virago** – Must…resist…..puppy dog….eyes….gaaah, it's no good. Your effervescent review was too powerful to resist. Yep, he bought her a ribbon all right; shame it wasn't the pink one though, eh? ; ) Thank you big time for the review – I was pleased as pomegranate punch when I saw it. Hope this chapter's okay for those pesky mind demons and thanks for sticking with it.

**Jasmina** – I don't know what impressed me the most – your exquisitely worded review or the fact you managed to wade through _fifteen_ chapters [**bows with awed deference**]. Needless to say, I was delighted with your feedback and I'm glad the pared-down style meets with your approval. I hope you keep enjoying the fic.

Well folks, by my tentative reckoning there's only three or four chapters to go 'til the end. Let the plot thicken….or should that be curdle?)

Disclaimer - It will be mine, oh yes, it will be mine [**drools**]

**Chapter Sixteen**

'Oh Mai, they are not going to bite you.'

Mai gave Leilan what felt like a very frail, watery little smile. But then, everything about her felt frail and watery at the moment.

Tillalia patted her shoulder. 'Come along, child. It's quite simple. Just chose the one you like best.'

Mai thought that easy for her to say. These people lived in a riot of colour but seemed blissfully immune to its effects. The snug little caravan might have been charming if it didn't look like a rainbow had crawled inside to die, and simply glancing at Leilan sparked a spiteful ache in her head. She supposed the woman's crimson skirt could be bearable had it not been striped with such a startling shade of pink and pitted against a blouse of virulent green. The effect was nothing short of painful.

Sweet, glowing Leilan, however, still managed to outshine the dubious radiance of her garb. Mai thought it entirely unfair that these women should be so indiscriminately beautiful. Her quick jaunt around the budding camp had made her feel absolutely wretched. Whether tall or short, heavy or lithe, married or maid, the Tuatha'an female seemed to possess some intangible grace that she could not even hope to achieve. And yet here she sat, being prodded and peered at like some insect in the clamouring hands of several overly curious children. Even the huge, amber cat watched with its intent green glare. Mai scowled at the creature.

'Try not to make that face again, dear. It's highly unbecoming.'

She bit back an oath. How in the Light could Tillalia have seen that? The woman had a secret sense for every scowl, frown or anything else she deemed 'unfeminine', 'unbecoming' or, in her starker moments, 'ugly'.

'What about the green, child? It would bring out the red glints in your hair splendidly.'

She eyed the leafy dress askance. It would have been her first choice had the neckline not been slashed to the navel. Better even than the blue gown, the hem of which, for some fool reason, had been pinned to reveal a froth of lace and an indecent expanse of leg. The yellow was clearly the most decent even if the colour was truly revolting. In the face of indignity, modesty prevailed.

'The yellow.' Mai gave Leilan another shaky smile. 'I like it best of all.'

Tillalia snorted – she even managed to make that sound dainty – and paused in coiling a wad of unruly hair. 'With your complexion? Definitely not.'

'Maybe if she wasn't so fearful of a little colour, we could spend a little time readying ourselves for the evening.'

Thea gave a languorous yawn in answer to Mai's sharp look. The girl was lounging on dark, tasselled cushions, her lips curved in a mysterious smile below a hooded, feline gaze. Golden bracelets chimed on her rounded arms as she wove braids into her lustrous and irritatingly obedient hair. She was certainly pretty, that one, and with a pretty tongue to match.

Tillalia's hands had barely resumed their worrying at Mai's tresses when she stopped with a vexed hiss. 'Really, child, I do not think I have ever seen such bothersome hair.'

'I should think that you will have to pin it.' Thea's tone was ripe with amusement as her own quick fingers worked her ebony tresses with fluid ease. 'It seems the only way to make it presentable.'

Mai winced as her hair was gathered into a pile atop her head. Despite the cabin's warmth, the exposed flesh on her neck felt horribly naked.

'Yes, that should do the trick nicely. Leilan, would you be so kind?'

The smaller woman began plucking through a small basket of ribbon tails before something seemingly caught her eye. Her hand pressed to her distended abdomen, Leilan waddled to a small, lacquered table and grasped a coil of brilliant blue satin.

'This one.' She declared, snipping at the soft fabric with tiny, pearl-handled shears. 'It will look magnificent with those eyes.'

Tillalia seemed to hesitate before accepting the cobalt lengths but soon began to wind it into Mai's hair with swift fingers. 'Now hurry and choose, child. The green dress or the blue.'

It was Leilan who finally came to her rescue. Mai could have kissed the woman when she straightened with a jubilant smile.

'Tilly, what about the dress Galen bought for our betrothal night? Surely it would be more suitable?'

'That pale, horrid little thing?' Thea's glittering eyes fixed upon Mai. 'Then again,' she drawled. 'I suppose it might suit.'

'Thea, would you be so kind as to fix us a pot of tea.'

The younger woman's smirk vanished at Tilly's words. Rising with a frown, she all but bristled with indignation as she swept from the room, her swathe of ebony braids bustling behind her.

'Oh don't mind her, Mai. She just can't stand not being the centre of attention for once.' Leilan huffed as she headed from the small door. 'The dress will be perfect. Just you wait and see. And don't look so worried. The dress is fine by any ones standards, but certainly pretty enough to gather an admiring glance or two. I confess that it did me no harm.' She gave her stomach a suggestive pat and Mai a sly wink. Mai blushed furiously. These people had no shame. None whatsoever.

'I don't think I have ever seen anyone so happy,' Tillalia mused as Leilan left in search of her dress. 'Sickening, isn't it?'

'I think it's wonderful.' Mai clasped her hands in her lap, suddenly chastened by the wistful note in her voice. But it was wonderful. Thea's waspish outbursts aside, there was an aura of humour and affection amongst the owners of these huddled caravans. Even now the high, sweet laughter of little ones darting in their breathless games and the gentle melody of a flute drifted in the warm air, so different from the sounds she had grown accustomed to. She sighed.

'I had hoped you be a little cheerier this evening.' Tillalia patted her cheek with a fond smile. 'I do not believe I have ever seen anyone so inconsolable. Whatever was the matter, child?'

'Nothing important.' She shifted in her seat. The cushions really were far too soft. 'It was just Cal. He was cross with me.'

'Indeed? Why do you suppose that was?'

'I don't know. This morning he was a little odd.' Her face grew inexplicably hot. The caravan was like an oven.

'So that's what made you cry?'

'No. It was after you arrived.'

'You mean after your little outburst?'

Mai ticked through the memory. 'I suppose it was. I didn't even see him leave.'

'A good thing too. A scowl does not suit a pretty man, and that one left with a face like thunder.'

Cal? Pretty? If Tillalia had decided on Cal, she certainly had an odd way of showing it. And why would the man be so angry with her for being concerned about the sickness spreading? _Pretty?_

'So you went looking for your sweet little lapdog and found a lion instead.' Tillalia chuckled. 'You young ones and your games. They never fail to make me smile. Now, stand up and let me take a look at you. Fie, girl, do you have to be so tall?' After a few seemingly random adjustments, Tillalia gave a firm nod. 'That should do nicely.'

'Oh, you look splendid.' Leilan's voice was a touch breathless, though probably more from her expedition than the effect of Mai's hair. The woman was flourishing the dress as she heaved up the steps, her eyes gleaming. 'Well, here it is child. What do you think?'

She realised she needn't say a word for Leilan had already clasped a hand to her reddened cheek. 'Oh Tilly, I think she likes it.'

Mai could only stare. The gown was pale, almost staggeringly so in the midst of such stifling colour, and cut from a fabric that seemed to shiver with the slightest whisper of movement. She was trying to decide whether the dress was blue or lilac when Leilan gave an exasperated _tsk_.

'Well stop gawping at the thing and put it on.' She cried, her swollen body swaying as though she were resisting the urge to hop from foot to foot.

Then Mai found herself ushered behind a screen decorated with painted birds and butterflies so vibrant that they seemed to almost dance across its dark surface. After stepping from her breeches and shrugging the tunic to the floor, she shivered despite the warmth. Now that the excitement was dimming, the thought of wearing that dress seemed almost unbearably daunting.

'Are you ready yet?'

'Nearly.' She gasped, hugging the dress to her strapped chest. The binding felt suddenly stifling and she realised with horror that there was no way the dress would conceal the strips of bandage. A hot wave of nausea roiled through her.

'Do hurry up, Mai.' Leilan's voice was tinged with impatience now. 'I simply _must_ see how it looks on you.'

'Just a moment.' Mai gritted her teeth. If she _was_ sick, she wouldn't have to wear the dress. She could pretend to be disappointed and just hurry back to her tent. From the way her stomach was lurching, the prospect didn't seem at all unlikely.

It was then that Tillalia bustled into view. 'Whatever is the matter, child? Why are you just--?' Her eyes lowered to Mai's chest and graceful brows knitted in something close to incomprehension. 'Are you hurt?'

The voice was soft, bringing her close to tears. Mai shook her head. 'No, I'm not hurt.' She sucked in a long breath. 'I cannot do this. I am sorry for wasting your time. I think I'd like to go now.'

'What are the bandages for? Are you nursing?' The woman's face blanched. 'Oh, dearest, was there a child?'

Mai clenched her fists. 'Laybridge was a hard place. I worked alone, tending men who were angry or drunk. Usually both. They would not have needed encouragement. I'm sorry to have wasted your time.'

She was about to gather her clothes when a pair of deceptively strong arms enfolded her.

'My poor child.' A gentle hand stoked her back. 'Surely there is no need to hide now? No one here would wish to hurt you. I think your blonde friend would see to that.'

With some alarm, Mai realised that her lip was trembling. How peculiar. 'Cal doesn't care about me.' Was that her voice? It sounded so….odd. 'He would rather me gone from here.' A tear spilled onto her cheek. 'But it is not his help that I want.' The words were little more than a whisper, but Tillalia tightened her embrace.

'Oh, dearest,' she crooned. 'No good can come of such hopes.' Tillalia pulled away and watched her with a strange, sad smile. 'Do not look so surprised. I have seen enough to know. I think we both realise how wrong it would be to set your heart on such a fancy.' She thumbed a tear from her cheek. 'Choose another, dearest. Spare yourself more hurt.'

Mai could only nod as the woman released her and gathered the dress from the brushed boards. 'Now, put this on. You are going to enjoy yourself this night, or you will have me to answer to.'

When Tillalia swept from sight, Mai began to pluck at the bandages with surprisingly steady fingers. She felt like she should be shaking but the binding soon drifted free with something like a sigh. The dress was cool, smooth and gloriously comfortable. Mai turned, swirling the skirts about her ankles. It felt strange and burdensome and somehow wonderful.

Leilan appeared to lace the back of the dress, her face kindly as she issued a stream of compliments that Mai only barely heard.

When she emerged from the screen, Tillalia smiled. In her hand was a lacquered comb in the shape of an azure butterfly. Mai was smiling in return as the woman gently slid the comb into her hair.

'There now,' Tillalia murmured as she and Leilan stepped back to admire their handiwork. 'I think that she will do just nicely.'

The cat glided about her feet as Mai turned to face the mirror, her eyes widening at what she saw. 'I think,' she murmured in a slow voice. 'That I am going to be sick.'

* * *

'Having fun?' Mat tugged at his collar – the bloody thing was choking him blue - and strode towards Cal.

'Not particularly no.'

Mat paused in buttoning an embroidered cuff. 'My, aren't we sulky this fine evening?'

'What's so 'fine' about an evening of bad brandy, bad music and Light-blinded Tinkers?'

'Well, there's _that_ for one.'

A group of females had swayed into view. In the middle of them, looking very much like a rabbit that had just spotted the glint of a snare, was Mai.

'Now, is it my imagination, or is Mai filling that dress a little more than she ought to?'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Ha! So you noticed.'

'Shut up.'

'That's a fetching shade of red you're turning.'

'I'm getting another drink.' Cal muttered, shouldering his way past two prettily plump girls. 'What are you following me for. Can't find any décolletages to ogle?'

Mat deftly skirted the smiling pair with an admiring grin of his own. 'And when did you suddenly get so prissy?'

'About the same time we came to this stink-pit.'

Cal's snarled words were enough to halt him mid step. The man had waded on a few paces before Mat recovered enough to follow. He eyed his friend closely as he leaned against a keg. 'Thirsty?'

'Just trying to make this whole thing bearable.' Cal drained his cup and set to filling it again

'At least you're not being boiled alive.'

That earned him a glare. 'Then take off that ridiculous coat.'

'Fine bloody taste you have.' Mat brushed the dark velvet with a scowl. 'At least I made the effort.'

'Who's that?'

Cal's glare led him to a pretty Tinker girl, dark, sultry and hardly Cal's type at all. He smiled as she gave a coy wiggle of her jewelled fingers. 'Good choice.'

'Not her. _Him_.'

Mat shifted his gaze to an earnest looking young man. 'I don't know. Why? Thinking of asking him for a dance?'

The young, dark haired fellow Cal was glaring at seemed harmless enough. In fact, he looked positively cheery as he chatted to Mai. Well, chatted _at_ her. Mai looked to be having trouble getting a word in edgeways.

'I don't like the look of that one. He's got shifty scrawled all over him.'

'Oh, I don't know. Mai seems to be enjoying herself.' The pretty Tinker girl was smiling at him now, her eyes warm and inviting. In truth, she was more than just pretty with those jet braids framing her pouty face and a body that looked made for dancing. At that moment, the old man struck the first note of the evening. Her admirer gave a girlish clap but her smile was positively wicked as she swayed forward, threw off her shawl and stood with bare shoulders thrust back as though daring someone to join her. When a drum began to thud in time, Mat shrugged off his coat.

'Well, it would be rude not to.' He laughed as he handed Cal his wine and strode to join the girl.

Several others followed suit, sauntering with feigned disinterest as they sought a partner, and soon the clearing was alive with whirling skirts and breathless laughter. Even Estean had found a partner, although the girl looked to be sorely regretting her decision if her winces were anything to go by.

Cal, however, had no intention of joining the frivolity. One hour. Just one, and then he would leave. No one could ask for anything more civil than that. Mai was watching the dance with large, impassive eyes. Luminous as she was, his gaze were still drawn to the idiot so intent on drooling over her hand. With a long draw from his cup, Cal swirled the brandy in his mouth, felt the bite of the amber liquid on his tongue.

'Rarely have I seen such a handsome man so alone, or so unhappy.' A small, warm hand stroked his neck. 'We must find you a remedy, my dear.'

He swallowed the mouthful, relishing the burning trail as it coursed to his stomach. 'I thank you for your concern….Tillalia, wasn't it?' The woman gave an insufferably gracious smile. 'But if you mean the remedy to be a dance, you may find me a very unwilling patient.'

'Not many men forget my name, dearest. If you were not so clearly distracted, I might take offence.'

'Please accept my boundless apologies. Good evening.'

He stalked a few paces before realising the woman was gliding beside him. He stopped to fix her with what he hoped was his sternest glower. 'I'm sorry if I have misled you in some way, but I am not in the mood for company.'

'Not my company, perhaps. And certainly not theirs.' She inclined her head towards the dancers. 'But I believe that there is one person in particular that you crave.'

The woman stepped aside, allowing him a clear view of Mai. Light, that dress was perfection on her. He glanced away before she could catch him gaping like some idiot farm boy. She was none on his concern.

'I should warn you that Andry is something of an expert in such matters.' She clasped his jaw, forcing him to look. 'He can be very persuasive.'

For a heartbeat, he was sure Mai had been watching him. But it was the dance she studied, her face pale enough to outshine a winter moon and just as cold. 'Why should I care?'

'So stubborn.' A hand slid to his chest. 'Stubborn enough to spite yourself the very thing you desire.'

'I would not foist my attentions upon the girl when it is perfectly clear it is not me she wants.'

'How can she know what she wants? She is young, dearest. She needs guidance. The matter is in hand.'

'What do you mean?'

'Don't glare so. A woman is a fool for the man who cannot make her happy. Many make that mistake, and live to regret it.' Her eyes glittered in the firelight, black and narrowed. 'I want to avoid that for the girl, so I gave her some advice. She seemed to heed it well.'

'Why?'

'Let's just say I hate to see those pretty eyes so sad.' Her laugh was throaty. 'Oh, very well. It never hurts to have a handsome man in your debt.'

He cursed the sudden heat in his face, even more so when Tillalia gave another ripple of laughter.

'Very sweet. Now go to her. And don't ruin it this time.'

A grin marred his bow. 'My lady, you have my thanks.'

'Is that all?' She scorned as fingers twined into his hair.

Her felt her smile against his lips before she released him with a contented purr. 'Now hurry along. And don't fret. A little competition might do her good.'

Cal eased the stricken look from his face, took a deep breath, an even deeper swig of brandy, and headed for Mai. That ogling Tinker had finally left her side. More fool him. He saw her eyes widen for the merest of seconds before those lashes lowered, concealing the secrets hidden in those blue depths.

Like a child preparing for reprimand, she lifted her chin and drew back her pale shoulders.

His face flaming….

_Light, Mat was right about that dress_…

….Cal took a deep breath and kept on walking.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

(**A/N** – Well, this has to be the quickest update I've ever managed. Must be because of those lovely reviews….

**VercisIsolde** – Wow. That little syllable summed up my thoughts when I saw your review. My physical response was less eloquent, being more of a strangled 'pfftl' as I almost sprayed the monitor with a mouthful of lager. Tickled pink, happy as a clam, over the moon; just some of the idioms I could use to describe my deep joy at your fabulous review. Needless to say, I'm very glad you gave my story a second chance and ploughed through what is apparently now the longest WoT fic. (a dubious accolade, no doubt) on FF. And in one sitting **[is aghast]**. Kudos to you for being spot-on about that certain blonde individual – he has something of a shady past. I'm hoping that will at least partially explain his occasional erratic outburst. And about the love triangle thing – it's coming along slowly, although I think it's more of an isosceles than an equilateral triangle at the moment (and they said I was no good at maths – in your face, geometry!). I'll definitely keep working on it though. Thanks again for the wonderful review. Big smiles. :D

**Virago** – I feel deep pain at the thought of your afternoon meeting. Luckily, I'm far too menial to attend such gatherings in my hell-hole/work-place, leaving me plenty of free time to abuse the system (hurrah!). No problems that the review was short and sweet – I'm always glad to receive them, no matter how wee. Nice dance, btw.

I like to sub-title this chapter 'The One Where Something Actually Happens' (No, not in that way. Get your minds out of the gutter, folks). It will also be the last update for a while as I have a busy few weeks ahead. Hope you enjoy this instalment and thanks once more to VercisIsolde and Virago for the reviews. )

**Disclaimer** - It wasn't me, guv. Honest.

**Chapter Seventeen**

In the end, they had all but carried her from the wagon, lips stretched in painted smiles.

'_Oh, don't be such a prude child_.'

'_Tilly's right, Mai. You'll have a wonderful time_.'

'_Now, just a dab of perfume_....'

'…_pinch her cheeks, Tilly; she's white as goosedown_....'

'…_a touch more oil perhaps_….'

'..._that ribbon looks so pretty with your eyes_….'

'…_a smile wouldn't hurt_….'

'..._yes, do_ smile_, Mai_….'

Smile. Her last attempt had slid into something just shy of a grimace. Cheeriness wasn't easy when some fool dress was strangling your waist, hugging your hips and only a wisp of shawl stood between dignity and a plummeting bodice. What could be worse than an evening spent hardly daring to breathe and wrestling skirts to stop an ankle from peeping? Not that her companions seemed to share her qualms. Hips lilting to some mysterious rhythm, their proud strut stirred bangles, belted coins and pretty, jewelled ankle chains into a chiming fanfare. Sighing, Mai tugged the shawl about her and tried not to feel like a peahen amongst swans.

Something snagged her dress hard enough to make her stagger. With a curse that blurted a giggle from Leilan, she lurched to a stop and turned her glower on the culprit. Thea seemed suddenly absorbed in study of her fingernails as a demure smile played about her lips. Mai slapped at the dusty footprint on her hem, not caring that there was no curtain of hair to hide her scowl.

Leilan crouched to fuss at Mai's skirts. 'There now. All fixed.'

'I'm not sure if this is a good idea.'

'Nonsense. You look perfect.' Leilan straightened with an encouraging smile. 'And I won't let you waste such a beautiful evening by sulking in a tent.'

She could agree with that at least. Even though fire-smoke had draped a sullen haze beneath the dusk-painted sky, that sea of damson and sienna was unblemished by clouds and gloried by the dying blaze of the sun.

The moon was a mere ghost in that riot of hues, but already the cicadas and other night-creatures were preparing for their even-song with the occasional chirrup. As they drew closer to the camp, the distant echoes began to swamp the budding chorus; bawdy songs warred with sprightly melodies from countless flutes and tin-whistles and suddenly her heart was a drum, gorging her ears with its dark rhythm.

The fires cackled higher, as though glutting on the heat. Stinging smoke, succulent with roasting flesh and sun-swollen fruits, jolted her stomach into a performance to rival the most energetic of acrobats.

She pulled in a breath and hurried after the women, her skirts gathered so stockinged ankles flashed in the firelight. The perfumed oil they had daubed on her fevered pulse mingled with the firefly specks of incense, as though conspiring to make her sneeze.

Leilan pulled her close, her voice rich with amusement. 'Look. They hardly recognise you!'

Her skin prickled as she hurried past the dark, man-shaped creatures shadowed against the orange pyres. She could feel the weight of their stares, could almost see the scathing twist to their lips. Shivering, she tried to emulate the careless strut of the women, aware of the tight, silk slippers that clipped her stride into a sashay, the brash, wine-soaked voices and the sweat wending between her breasts.

'Mai. There's someone who would like to meet you.'

Wishing that Leilan hadn't laced her bodice so tightly, Mai padded to Tillalia and the young man at her side.

'This is Andry, my nephew.'

The young man bowed and, before she could protest, pressed a lingering kiss to her hand. 'I am honoured to meet you, Mai. Do you know the Song?'

'No, dearest.' Tillalia patted the boy on the shoulder and beamed an indulgent smile. 'He is eager, this one. And already quite taken with you. Now, if you will excuse me.'

Mai froze as Tillalia abandoned her. It was horror enough that the boy had heard the woman's words, worse still that he was actually nodding.

'You are pale, like a new snowfall. Seeing you reminds me of my favourite season.'

She jerked her hand from his descending kiss. 'Thank you.'

It was then that she glimpsed Cal, unmistakable with his gold-lit hair despite the gloom. If his glower was anything to go by, it seemed that he had also spotted her.

The gall of the man! She should be the one glaring, and with more cause.

She fought the impulse to poke her tongue at him. Mat was there too, his smile broad as he muttered something that made Cal's scowl even darker. Men.

Andry was watching with an injured frown. 'You seem….elsewhere. Is that man your chosen?'

'Cal is just a friend.'

_Was, _she reminded herself. Irritatingly, the thought was a little plaintive.

'Then let us be just friends also.'

With a silent groan, she saw that he was readying to kiss her hand again. Fortunately, a group of brightly clad Tinkers struck a melody that prompted a flurry of applause and she clapped along with genuine delight, using the excuse to retrieve her hand.

There had been music in Laybridge, at feastings and naming days, but it had always sounded rough and awkward even to her untrained ear. Tonight the fiddles and strange instruments seemed to sing the sweet, shining notes.

'A smile at last.' Andry leaned closer. 'If it pleases you, perhaps later we shall dance.'

'Why wait for later?' The look Thea gave Andry was nothing short of smouldering as she swept by in a cloud of perfume. Eyes still glinting with that silent challenge, the girl strutted to a swept clearing and threw off her shawl, much to the obvious delight of the male onlookers.

Leilan gave a tolerant laugh. 'Don't worry, Mai, Thea's just trying her favourite trick. No man has been able to resist it yet.'

'Who would fall for something _that_ obvious?' Mai was mid-sniff when Mat stepped forward, all but tripping over himself to join Thea.

'Never underestimate the predictability of a man, dear.' Leilan said fondly, draping an arm around a grinning Andry's shoulder. 'It's a trait that comes in useful every now and then.'

As far as Mai was concerned, men were anything but predictable. Tillalia was caressing Cal's face and whispering through dark smiles. The woman must have been cooing the right words for that blue glare softened a touch. Not that she cared. She didn't. Not one bit.

'Would you like a drink?'

The smile felt heavy on her lips. 'That would be lovely.'

Her fingers worrying a silver bracelet, Mai watched Andry dash in pursuit of her drink and sighed.

The other women had now clutched into smaller groups or begun to mingle with the men. Mat was still dancing with Thea, although 'dancing' seemed too civil a word to describe the girl's eager performance, which seemed to involve an awful lot of hips and swaying. Mai turned at the sound of footsteps, impatient for Andry to return with some wine. But it was not Andry approaching.

Cal's gait was purposeful despite his downcast stare. Mai drew herself to full height and tried to look imposing. If he thought he could cow her this time….

He barely had the decency to pry his gaze from the dirt.

'It that scowl for me?'

'It's no more than you deserve.' The words had tumbled out before she could stop herself. She lifted her chin, expecting Cal to look stung, but he just looked awkward and sweaty.

'Not in the mood for dancing around words tonight, I see.'

'Let's just say that one-sided sword fights tend to make me irritable.'

_Now_ he looked stung. Strangely, that didn't please her as much as it should.

'I'm sorry about what happened earlier. Truly sorry. And I'm sorry I don't know what else to say.'

He managed a show of pure misery even though his shoulders were unbowed, his face a study of composure.

To her dismay, all her chill words so carefully prepared thawed on her lips. 'You could promise never to try and kill me again.'

Blue eyes found and fixed her. 'I'll see what I can do.'

'Your drink?' Andry blinked at them, two mugs of dark liquid in his hands.

She shot an imploring look at Cal who seemed very much absorbed in glaring at the young Tinker.

'Andry, I'm feeling a little tired. Maybe later.'

'Now, Mai. It's only fair that you should dance with our guest.' Cal clasped her hand and touched a lingering kiss to her palm, his eyes still fixed on Andry.

He straightened and closed her fingers around the kiss. 'As promise that you will dance with me later.' With a solemn bow, and another glare for the boy, Cal stormed from sight.

Quashing a curious urge to stamp her foot, Mai took a swallow of her drink. She was quietly gasping past the fiery liquid when Andry insisted on his dance and pulled her into the crowd without even waiting for an answer. She drained the cup as she straggled behind, her throat aflame from the unfamiliar drink.

He swung her to a stop amid a swirl of music and dancers. With a light head and a sinking stomach she realised that there was no chance of a polite escape.

'I have never before seen such magnificent eyes.' Andry snaked an arm about her waist. 'I think a man could drown in them.'

'Oh, how terrible.'

'No, no. It would not be terrible at all.' For a moment the boy looked almost flustered. 'You like to dance?'

'I've never done it before.' She realised she was smiling. Well, grinning really. She wished she could remember what was so funny.

Her next step landed on something soft. Mai lifted her foot from Andry's as he made a sort of strangled yip.

'I suppose I'm not very good at this.'

'Nonsense. Why, you're as light as a feather.' He whirled her in a giddy circle, only just catching her in time to stop her falling on her rump. 'You see?'

His gleaming smile had barely come back into focus when he reeled her again, faster this time. Her stomach lurched a mournful hiccough.

Tearing free of the boy's grasp, Mai pressed a hand to her brow. Sweat bled from her skin, cold and clammy and thoroughly unpleasant. 'I think I'd like to sit down.'

'But we've hardly had one dance.'

Andry tried for her hands but she quickly tucked them behind her. 'I really have to go.'

She turned before he could protest, trying to make her escape as discreet yet dignified as possible. Rearranging her skirts in a fluffing motion, a gesture that still seemed odd yet somehow exciting to her, she slowly headed for the nearest gap in the crowd. Slowly, because of the stupid, crippling slippers. She was giving silent thanks that Andry wasn't in pursuit when someone yanked into an embrace.

'Andry, I….'

'Dance.' A fearful gaze darted above her head. 'You just might be saving my bloody skin.' Fingers entwined with hers as an arm circled her waist, easing her into a slow glide. 'That woman. She's like one of those bloody worms you carry around.'

His skin looked dusky against her pallor, the fingers tanned and rough. 'Leech.'

'What?'

'It's leech. Not worm.'

'Oh.' A hand slid to her hip.

'It's a common mistake, but they're actually not like worms at all.' Smoke and leather. His smell was as exotic to her as the perfume they had dabbed on her throat. 'We've looked at their insides. They really are quite—' She gasped as he pulled her closer. 'Fascinating.'

'Really.'

'Yes. You're confusing them with tapeworms, I think. They feed off things too. We've found those in all sorts of creatures. Dogs, cows, pigs…'

'Pigs?'

Light, but his eyelashes were long. 'Yes, pigs. And sometimes people.'

'Sounds awful.'

'Yes, yes it is….' Warm palms cupped her waist. 'Awful.'

Those hands tightened. 'Oh, burn me.' His breath, spiced with brandy and tabac, tickled her cheek. 'Come on.'

Her hand still clasped in his, they ducked and wove between the startled dancers, her skirts streaming like a wind-whipped cloud and laughter gasping from her lips. Grunts and startled exclamations followed their flight and then she heard a shrill and unpleasantly familiar voice call her abductors name.

With a colourful oath, he yanked her to a halt. Tottering, she watched him snatch a drink from a confounded looking Cal.

'Here.'

The silvery cup sloshed ruby liquid over her hand.

'Have fun.'

And, with that, Mat fled for the campfires.

'A dashing rescue indeed.'

'Actually.' Her knees felt shaky. How strange. 'I'm the rescuer.'

Cal was toying with the leaves of a willow, a shrewd smile on his lips. 'Cherry?' He offered a small dish. 'Seems they've ripened early this year.'

'No, thank you.'

He shrugged and held a ruby orb before him. 'Well, it seems as though our orders are to have fun.' He popped the berry between his lips. 'Any ideas?'

The wine didn't taste very good. In fact, it made her queasy. She dropped onto the grass to knead her throbbing feet. 'I think I like it here just fine.'

She yelped as Cal grabbed the cup.

'How much of this have you had?'

'That's my first.'

He crouched before her. 'Then what were you drinking with that Tinker?'

'I'm really not sure.' She was grinning again. How frustrating. 'It didn't taste much like wine. It tasted....burnt.' She finished, pleased by the wide-eyed understanding on Cal's face.

'He gave you brandy?' Cal rubbed a hand over his eyes. 'Wait here.'

Laughter tickled her throat as he stomped away. She had pressed a hand to her lips, trying to squash the giggle still hovering there, when Cal returned.

'Here.'

She stared at the cup. 'What is it?'

'Water. And eat this.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Just eat it. You'll feel better.'

She nibbled at the chunk of dry bread. 'Would you like to dance?'

'Maybe later.' He mimed a smile as he brushed a curl from her brow. 'Do you feel all right?'

Her head actually stayed on when she nodded. Amazing.

Cal draped a coat over her shoulders and sat beside her. The coat was dark and smooth and familiar smelling. She hunched deeper into its velvety warmth.

The music had slowed into a soft, drawly tune, hardly good for dancing at all. She hiccoughed and sipped at the water.

'Did I tell you I was sorry?'

'Yes.'

'Well, I am.' Even downcast, his eyes were piercing in their honesty. 'If I upset you, or hurt you, I was wrong.'

He still refused to meet her gaze. Nudging his shoulder, Mai determined to banish the matter for good. Raising her cup in mock salute, she exclaimed; 'To addled wits and misunderstandings.'

Cal took a deep drink before mimicking her, his blue eyes blazing with firelight. 'To forgiveness and beauty.'

The cups met with a shiver.

He was watching her, intent and unreadable as ever. She broke the honorific with a quick sip and looked through the willow branches where the first stars were beginning to throb through the haze.

'Mai, do you want to stay here?'

'Not for much longer. These pebbles aren't very comfortable.'

'I meant with the Band.'

'I haven't really thought about it. Why?' The bread seemed to stick in her throat. 'Has something been said?'

'No. But the men are almost well now. They won't stay here forever. Before the Band moves on, I intend to leave alone.' He paused, made as though to down his drink, seemed to think better of it. 'I'm asking if you will come with me.'

'But I'm safe here. And they need me, don't they?' The cup creaked in her grip. Leave? Why would she want to leave?

Her mind whirling with the idea, Mai tried to look at anything other than Cal.

Leilan was dancing with a young man, her hand stirring the black curls at his neck as his stroked her rounded belly.

A bat fluttered overhead, stroking the night with velvet wings.

Thea was drawing Mat into her sleek arms, her throat throbbing with laughter.

She didn't even realise Cal had left her side until he was striding away.

'Where are you going?'

He smiled over his shoulder. 'Give the coat to Mat when you see him.'

It was some time before she realised she hadn't answered his question.

* * *

'Will you stop fussing? I'm sure he's fine.'

'Then why can't I find him?' Mai strode in front of Leilan, her head beating with muzzy pain and her feet burning in the ridiculous slippers. 'He said he was leaving. What if he's already gone?'

'He's probably drunk and sleeping it off somewhere. You know how men are.'

And there was the rub. She had absolutely no idea how men were, especially a certain blonde one who seemed torn between drawing a sword or hugging the breath from her.

'What is wrong with the man? Every time I speak he just scowls or wanders off.'

'Try kissing him a few times.'

She almost tripped at that. 'Why?'

'You're such a goose. He's besotted with you. A blind fool could see it.'

'That's not true.'

'Where have you been, child? Hiding under a bushel all your life? Here you are, complaining because some boy's throwing his heart at your slippers, and you insist on being all calf-eyed over someone else. No wonder he's cross.'

Mai gasped. 'I am not calf-eyed over anybody.'

Leilan rolled her eyes and kept on walking.

'Who then? If you know so much about me, you could at least let me know?'

'That wasn't fair, Mat. The ring was supposed to be a gift for Clarrie.'

The loud protest silenced any retort Leilan was about to make. If Estean's whine was anything to go by, the man was in a foul humour.

'More fool you for putting it in the kitty.' The second voice sounded even more sullen.

Leilan's lips had hooked into a mischievous smile.

Mai didn't like that look one bit. 'Where are you going?' she hissed.

But the woman was already waddling for the fire where the group sat in a straggled circle. Mai trailed behind, wincing as blisters pricked her feet.

Glum faces reflected the firelight, all staring at the pile of treasures at Mat's boots. Only Thea looked to be in good spirits. The creature was draped over Mat like some common smother-vine, her eyes gloating over a trinket on her finger.

The wood smoke must have been tickling Mai's nose for she sniffed. Loudly.

'Are you well?' Leilan piped with singsong innocence. 'Not sickening with something, I hope.'

Mat shot to his feet. Before she could protest, he seized her arm and ushered her to the fireside. 'Here, have a sit down.'

He pressed her shoulder so she had no choice but to slump onto the log. Only when Mat dropped down beside her did she realise that he had jammed her between himself and Thea. The Tinker girl's glare could have flayed a brass pot.

Estean had scooped up a pair of dice with a lusty sigh. 'This is my last crown, Mat. My last bloody crown.' He shook his fist, a determined look cramping his face. The dice dropped and rolled, tumbling to reveal four pips winking in the firelight.

There was a murmur of condolence.

'Blood and bloody, bloody flaming —'

'Really, Estean. We have ladies present.' Mat plucked a necklace from the dust with a grim smile. Coin-sized firedrops glistened from its thick, gold chain. After appraising it for a moment, Mat thrust the gaudy thing at Thea.

'You've done something to them.' Estean was muttering. 'You bloody well must have. Why else would they only work for you?'

'Light, if it will stop you sulking, someone else can take my flaming throw. Here.'

The dice felt cool in her palm. She blinked at Mat. 'But I—'

He smiled and leaned closer. 'Like this.' His warm hand closed around hers.

A jolt fizzled at that touch, a thrill like a single, thrumming nerve deep within her flesh.

Then nothing. Nothing but her breath, the dice and the familiar pulse of knowing what was going to happen….

….she hadn't expected to see her….

_I know what will come of this...._

….had flinched when Menna began to run, her hair like dying embers….

_I know**....**_

….had cried out to her, had….

_I...._

The dice left her fingers with a sigh, tumbling and swaying as though through honey. She watched them waltz to a stop, knew their faces before the final roll. Twin pips flickered in the firelight.

'The Dark One's eyes.' Breath warmed her ear. 'Lucky for some.'

She swiped her hand from Mat's. Sounds rushed at her; Estean's dismayed cry – _'Light, Mat. What else have you been teaching her?_ – the snarl of burning logs, a wailing fiddle, a fox's cry on the wind.

Lurching to her feet, Mai fled, heedless of the startled voices trailing behind.

'Mai.' Leilan was gasping to keep up. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing.' _Menna. Light, who are you?_

'Are you sick? We should go back.'

'No. I just need some air.' Her mind seethed with the image of that running girl. The girl in her dream. She rubbed at her wrist as though bloodied fingers were still hooked there. 'I just need to think.'

Leilan paused to lift an acknowledging hand to the campfire and a figure turned away, melded into the amber glow.

Wrenching the slippers from her feet, Mai walked on, ignoring the stinging grass as it rasped against her tender skin.

'Mai, please slow down.'

An ache bloomed in her side. Mai pressed a hand to her breast and sucked in a deep lungful of air, her heart beating fit to crack her ribs.

Leilan puffed behind. 'Please stop.' The woman reached for her. 'I'm sorry. If I had known it would make you that way….'

'It's not—' Light, but her head was spinning. Snarling, she reached into her mass of curls and began to yank at the ribbons, tearing them from her hair. A swathe of ringlets fell about her shoulders. For some reason, it made her feel better. 'It's not you.' The breath was coming easier now, the pain ebbing. 'It's not you.'

'Then what?'

Mai was trying to find the words when her all breath was slammed from her. She landed hard and wide-eyed, lungs aching for air. A swathe of midnight slid past with a stealthy hiss. Her lungs straining a reedy whistle, Mai swayed to a crouch.

Leilan was on her knees, eyes huge and glossy. 'Mai?'

'_Quiet_.' She scanned the night with frantic speed, searching for that unnatural darkness.

The girl whimpered. 'What is it?' Her tiny form hunched closer.

'Leilan, stay.'

But the girl was crawling now, too lost in her horror. Beyond Leilan's sobs was a low, hungry sound, as though the attacker tasted their fear.

'Who ever you are, leave us alone. One scream and I'll have a hundred men here in a heartbeat.'

Her flesh shuddered as another sound rippled the air. It knew...._they'll never get here in time, you stupid girl_.…_but sing for me_...._give me the music of your fear_....oh Light, it knew.

She tore her gaze from the black shape. Leilan had frozen, her face rigid with terror.

'Run.'

'No, I can't--'

'Leilan, go.' She forced every ounce of her will into the command. '_Run!_'

With a wail, Leilan flung herself from the ground and ran for the speckled light of the camp. A low chuckle followed.

'No!'

The pursuer moved like ebony flame through oil. Mai shook as slender arms seized and curved around Leilan. Sobs racked her as the creatures pale face lowered, its cloak flowing as though stirred by some covetous wind.

'Please. No…'

Long, white fingers cupped Leilan's stricken face, drew trembling, ruby lips to meet its own.

The air seemed to darken, to silence as though mourning the vile act playing before her. A silken song billowed in the hush, a lullaby that resonated within her, soothed her ravaged mind. She gazed in silence as a small body slid to the ground.

With almost exquisite grace, the cloaked man swayed towards her. His face was luminous, beautiful, the large eyes filling her with yearning as a soft croon caressed her mind, eased away her foolish fear.

'Such sweetness,' she whispered, her voice low with dark longing. 'Sing to me.'

The glorious song intensified as his cloak stirred in the stillness, rising to obscure the radiance of the moon. With dim awe she saw a tracery of veins, delicate as featherweb, pulsing within the fragile flesh.

The wings arced past her, sighing as they drew her in a velvety embrace. Huge, dark eyes glistened with a promise of perfect, ceaseless bliss....

She screamed when the creature staggered, its lilting music lurching into a shriek. Her hands clawed to snatch the splayed hands ebbing from her reach. The ground met her with a jolt. She curled in a numb huddle as a thud severed that piercing screech.

A chill breeze stirred the branches into gleeful conspiracy. Her mind ringing with the silence, Mai gazed at the figure standing above the darkness that twitched feebly against the earth.

Heaving herself upright, Mai stumbled to her fallen attacker. It lay in a pool of black, its huge eyes vacant and gelatinous below the rent in its skull as brittle fingers clawed at the stream of viscid liquid oozing from its breast. Fragile bones glistened in the meat of one wing while the other flailed obscenely, its barbed tip gouging a pale scar in the dirt. But worst was the sound, the soft, persuasive croon still trilling from its slender throat as though in lament of her cold defiance.

Her companion raised an unwavering arm and fired something into the creature's head. Black fluid stuttered from this new violation and, with a last, wavering whine, the thing lapsed into silence.

The figure turned to her, his breathing fast, hard and gloriously human. 'My love, you really are a world of trouble.'

She tried to speak but that creature's touch was still upon her, its charnel stink still clinging to the air. Reeling, she finally lost the battle with her stomach, only dimly aware of the gentle hands stopping her descent.

* * *

'Burn me. What in the bloody Light did you do?'

Cal shrugged. 'I put a couple of bolts into it.'

'A couple?' Mat shook his head. 'There's hardly anything left.'

The dead creature before them was in a wretched state. Its wings were splayed in a rigid rictus, and black, fetid ichor was beginning to seep from its bloated flesh in slick runnels.

'I put a few more in after it stopped moving. You told me these things took a long time to die.'

'Yes, if it's a Myrddral. You know, the ones with no eyes and that tendency to make grown men soil themselves?'

'It was dark. How was I supposed to know? Besides, not all of us make a habit slaughtering half-breeds.'

'Then count yourself the lucky one.' Mat breezed, his light tone failing to mask a snap of irritation.

'So what is it?'

'It's a Draghkar.' The younger man dropped the rag over the creature with a wince of distaste. 'Congratulations, Cal. You just slaughtered your first shadowspawn.'

'It's an honour I could have done without.' He cleared his throat. 'How's the girl?'

'Oh, Thea will be fine. She seemed a bit annoyed by the interruption, but I think I can smooth things out.'

Cal gave his friend a dark look. 'No, Mat, the _other_ girl?'

'Other? Light, Cal, one at a time is enough!' Mat grinned at Cal's scandalised expression. 'Don't worry, Tilly whisked her away after she'd finished losing her supper.' He knuckled his spine in a stretch. 'We've got half the Band watching the sky and the other half looking after the girl. She will be fine.'

'And what am I supposed to do with this?'

Mat turned a reluctant eye to the dead creature. 'Burn it, I suppose, if we can put up with the stink.'

'I'll see to it.' Cal shielded his nose with a sleeve. 'Though I doubt that it can smell much worse.'

'I wouldn't bet on it.'

'Where are you going?'

'To bed.' Mat rolled his eyes at Cal's disbelieving sigh. 'My own, of course. I think there's been more than enough excitement for one night.'

But sleep, and all it's comforts, was the last thing his mind wanted. His head was already pulsing with the beginnings of what would surely make the morning a living misery and the darkness was like a hot tide, throwing waves of pulsing heat against him. At least it might sweat some of the bloody wine from his hide.

His stomach still roiled, either from the drink or seeing that Tinker girl lying on the grass, her eyes black as the sky mirroring her incurious stare. He should have followed them, sent someone to make sure they were safe. Light, it had been so quiet. If Mai had screamed or wept, had raged or clung to someone, anything would have been better than that blank, vacant glaze so like that of the dead girl.

Not dead. His throat ached for a drink. What was it Moiraine had said? Worse than dead, or something much like it.

A flickering light still shone from Thea's window. He paused, foot poised as though to take a step towards the snug wagon. A shadow blurred the pain and he hurried on, hating the guilt that hunched his shoulders. She would be well enough. He kicked at a stone. It made him feel better so he kicked another, sent it skittering into the shadows.

An old man watched him from a perch of rickety steps, a battered fiddle in his knotted hands. Mat ducked his head in greeting but the fellow just blinked those rheumy eyes and tucked the fiddle under his grey-scuffed chin. As Mat walked on, a raw, plaintive melody trailed in his wake.

He hadn't known where he was headed until he saw her tent, pale and spectral in the darkness. What did it matter? He should check on her after all, be the dutiful leader and all that bloody nonsense.

There was no candle glow; a good sign. She was probably sleeping or had decided to stay with the caravans. Softly, so as not to startle her, he crept to the tent. He would put the foxhead inside and then he would leave. That's it. Just go back to the fires, or grab a skin of wine or go to Thea. Anything, but he would go. He would.

The opening was unlaced. He scratched at the sacking and muttered her name. It was not until he stumbled headfirst that he realised the tent was empty. A good thing too. He doubted the girl would have appreciated it if he landed on top of her. Face flaming – this bloody heat was becoming too much to bear – he scrabbled from the tent.

He had resolved to sink a belly-full of wine and go where the night took him when he spotted the light on the tor.

A steady stream of complaints had him breathless by the time he crested the rise. Beneath the sprawl of a leafy tree a figure was holding aloft a torch and peering worriedly into the darkness.

'Bit late for berry-picking, isn't it?'

Per started so hard that burning flecks dripped from the torch. The man rushed at him, his face creased with worry. 'I tried to tell her, my Lord, but she insisted.'

'Who? Per, what the bloody--?' Burnished silver glimmered in the shadows.

'I've tried to reason with her but she won't go back.'

'That's fine. I'll deal with it.'

'Yes, my Lord.' His face sagging with relief, Per dipped a bow and all but ran for the camp.

'And I'm no bloody Lord.'

Per waved the bobbing torch and kept running.

Twigs and ruby berries snapped and oozed underfoot as he approached her. The sheltering rowan tree looked almost dream-like in the moonlight. For a heartbeat, he felt a surge of nostalgia so strong he almost staggered.

_That's enough wine for one evening_.

The old man's song wiped the smile from his lips. Voices had now risen in a harmony that pricked the edges of his memory. He scowled that they should have the stomach for music at such a time. Tinkers had a habit of singing about bloody everything.

His steps were hardly delicate but the girl gave no sign. A fall of curls had tumbled free, swaying to a waist so slender he was sure he could have encircled it with both hands. But he had been right earlier; there were some interesting developments above and below that tiny midriff.

_Definitely enough wine_. He flinched as a twig cracked under his boot. Her head tilted, giving him a glimpse of a small, pink ear before she went back to her study of the speckled lights.

With a sigh, he leaned against the sturdy trunk.

'You picked a good tree.' He kept his voice light as he touched the silvery bark. It was smooth and cool, the grain achingly familiar beneath his palm. 'The berries can be handy for all sorts of things.' He dedicated a moment's reminiscing to a howling, ruby-splattered Cenn Buie. He remembered sulking for a week that they had burned his best sling, but the incident had definitely been worth the switching. The grin slid from his face. It had been a long while since a memory had made him smile. Light, he was maudlin tonight.

The girl hadn't moved. Only faint music and the whispering leaves touched the silence.

He pushed himself from the tree and stepped closer. 'Mai, are you all….'

'I think I lost those nice slippers in the grass somewhere.' She said, her voice too steady and low. 'I hope Tillalia won't mind.'

He saw her feet were bare and stained crimson with the crushed berries. 'I'm sure she will be fine.' He was nearly at her side now. 'Why don't we walk to the camp?'

'No.'

His hand lifted to her smooth shoulder, faltered. 'It's not going to come back.'

'How terribly inconsiderate of it.'

'Mai—'

She flinched when his fingers stirred her hair. 'I'm fine.'

A shiver gave her the lie. It was anything but cold – sweat was running from him in rivers now – but after the first spasm the girl seemed unable to stop tremoring. His best coat had vanished and he cursed not sending Per to fetch a blanket or some hot tea.

With a deep breath, he reached and pulled her to him.

'What are you doing?'

He countered with a wide smile. 'Keeping you warm.' Her cold fingers jutted from his as he slid the other hand around her waist. 'Besides, you owe me a dance. Our last one was rudely interrupted, remember?'

She made no protest save for her refusal to move, all the while staring at him with wide, impassive eyes. A sudden image flittered through his mind; her, silhouetted in a doorway, her gaze steady and chill....

_I believe you require a healer_....

....and he realised just how cold those eyes could be. Something in his face made her frown and pull away, gasp a wine-sweet breath against his lips and the song, that bloody song, was unbearable, pounding until his mind throbbed with its pain….

_Crows blackened the sky like a plague, circling against the grey with bloated bellies or dropping to batten on the countless dead and dying. Scrabbling through a mire of pulp and mud, heedless of the blaze of fat flies, he found purchase on a midden of fallen men. A glint of something, green as a summer glade, stopped him. Digging through bodies with clawed hands, he finally uncovered that flash of colour. The sword was still clenched in Taylal's stiff, cracked fingers while broken teeth snarled in final defiance. His hand trembled as he closed his brother's eyes. Forgetting the creed of the Lost, he swallowed a cry and sang a last lament to the weeping sky_….

He ground his teeth; the song in his head was louder still, overwhelming the one drifting from the camp. _Not now._

'What is it?'

'Nothing.' He spoke the word with care. It was more than an effort to replace his smile. The lament was dwindling, fading until it was nothing but the keen of a distant chorus. His stomach lurched once more and was still.

'You speak such nonsense sometimes.' A wisp of a smile. 'Are you drunk?'

'Not nearly enough.' She smelled of spices and crushed berries and something clean and sweet and altogether her. He pulled her close as a bitter sound escaped him. He was leading her to the tune of a bloody funeral.

She trembled against his chest, shivered like a leaf in a storm.

'Everything will be fine.' He whispered. 'I promise.'

Her arms curved about his neck as they danced the berries into wine.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

(**A/N** – Hullo. There are already too many words in this gargantuan chapter so, without further ado….

**Virago** – Glad I could cheer up a morning tainted with the dark threat of the workplace. Rammstein, eh? I've a whole catalogue of music that reminds me of individual bits of this story. Understandably, most of them are pretty dreary (**_mope)_**. Thanks for letting me know you enjoyed.

**VercisIsolde** – Another fabulous review – thank you! I'm glad you feel sorry for Cal – somebody has to (he was only supposed to appear in one chapter and suddenly he's my main antagonist. I really should start thinking these things through….). And I'm very happy you liked the final part of the chapter. Having never before tried my hand at anything remotely fluffy, I was worried it would turn into nausea-inducing drivel. Your encouragement and feedback are very much appreciated. P.S. Write more WoT!

**SuperMomSoTired** (aka., Amanda) – Hullo and thank you for the splendid review. I don't think I'm giving too much away when I confess that Mai isn't Mat's prophesised bride but I'm very glad you find their developing, and rather skewed, relationship appealing. I haven't written anything else under this pseudonym as yet but I've contracted a particularly virulent writing bug so other stories are bound to escape eventually. If any of them turn out to be readable, I'll let you know. Thank you for the lovely comments and hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Jasmina – **Good to hearfrom you again. Nope, Mai is officially not the dreaded Daughter of the Nine Moons. The subject is briefly mentioned in this chapter, very briefly, actually - blink and you'll probably miss it! Also, Mai's 'healing powers' are of the natural variety. Sorry if I gave the wrong impression (and I often do), but Mai's curative skills extend only to such draconian methods as blood-letting, bezoars and the odd leech. Big thanks for the prod to get me motivated into finishing this chapter and, as always, your comments are very much valued.

**Lolli – **I was on the verge of posting this chapter when I decided to check for any new reviews….and saw your marvellous critique. Gosh. At present, you're up to chapter three and have noted, quite accurately, my penchant for purple prose. I hope you find time wade a little further because a valuable lesson about the bane of flowery writing was learned (eventually). I've tried to make the whole thing terser and I hope to discover what you make of this in later chapters. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the wonderfully in-depth reviews. I'm quite overwhelmed!

Ennui Alert - This chapter contains huge dollops of plot-plop. Yes, there actually is a narrative buried in all this mess, much as I hate to admit it. And it's a touch on the long side. Apologies in advance if you find yourself lost in the black kaleidoscope of boredom. Sorry folks. (**_runs)_**

**Disclaimer** - T'ain't none of it mine.

**Chapter Eighteen**

It was too hot, the air stifling. Sweeping damp curls from her face, Mai opened her eyes.

Pale sun lit a cache of masculine regalia; empty wine bottles, a lone boot lying on a crumpled shirt, a spray of cards strewn around a battered tankard and a shabby book sprawled page-down as though flung aside in a fit of pique.

Her first, bewildered glance screamed she had strayed into unknown territory. It also told her she was alone.

Head thumping, she pushed herself upright and tried to wrangle some sense from the previous evening. There was a vague, fuzzy sort of memory of someone plying her with wine as she sat in fits of laughter. Or was it tears? She felt her brow crinkle. Something was very wrong here.

After struggling from the nook of cushions and strewn blankets – and making the unhappy discovery that corsets were not the kindest of bedfellows – Mai risked a stretch before twisting to loosen the laces trailing her spine. What had possessed her to sleep in the thing anyway? Her fingers fumbled at the knots but it was no use; the bodice was strung tighter than a footpad's purse. With a curse borne of sheer frustration, Mai bunched the skirts to her knees. The dress was beyond crumpled anyway. If she ever managed to wrestle from it, she would press the gown before returning it to Leilan. Bright pain seized the thought like a vice of slow, squeezing fingers.

She moaned when the creature's song awoke, it's luring croon a canker in her ears,

Leilan….

_Menna_

….I'm sorry.

Blissful torment shrieked louder still.

'Headache?'

The song ceased. She opened her eyes as Mat stepped into the tent.

'I've something of the same myself. Too much wine, I'll wager.' His smile was one she had never seen before, strained and distant.

He lifted a steaming bowl. 'I didn't know if you wanted any.'

'Thank you.' Knowing her colour had returned in a violent blush, she reached for the bowl he was already lowering to the floor, his eyes darting at anything but her.

'And I thought maybe you would want to get out of that dress. Into some new clothes, I mean.' He dropped a folded bundle beside the bowl. 'They probably won't be much of a fit.'

'That's fine. But I don't think I—' She waved a vague hand to her back. 'Could you just—?'

His eyes widened. 'Right.'

She turned, sweeping her hair over a shoulder. After a long moment, she felt a hesitant pluck at the ties then those hands were unravelling her laces with deft ease.

_Why not? He's doubtless done it a hundred times before. _

'Sorry.'

'What?'

'You flinched. I thought maybe I'd pinched you.'

'No, it's fine.'

She sighed as the corset relaxed.

'Tillalia was asking about you. They will be leaving within the hour if you want to say goodbye.'

Want. What she wanted was someone to hold her like they were afraid of letting go.

He had already backed away when she turned around.

'Do you need anything else?' That smile flashed again as he edged closer to the exit.

'No.'

He nodded and fled into the sunlight.

Mai knelt to retrieve her new clothes but her hand strayed instead to the tattered book. _The Travels of Jain Farstrider_. She fondly brushed the burnished lettering before uncurling the pages and placing the book on a cushion. After some rummaging, she found a mate for the forlorn boot and found them a home atop a dusty chest. That was when she saw the spear, its blade sleek and cold as a sickle moon. Her finger traced the strange lettering upon the glossy haft as though the slow caress could divine their secret. She could feel him there, an imprint of possession so strong the spear seemed to resent her touch.

With shallow breaths, she crouched instead to grasp and fold the shirt. She was sliding the cards into a neat pile when it overwhelmed her. Pressing her face into her skirts, she let tears come. She tried to mourn, to weep for Leilan and her neverborne child, but her pain was tired and familiar, like the ache of an old wound.

_Weep for her, you selfish wretch. How dare you cry for your own sorrows?_

Mai wrenched at the corset, flung it to the ground and twisted the skirts free. Mat was right about the clothes; they weren't much of a fit. She rolled the sleeves to stop cuffs from spilling over her hands and gave thanks that the baggy breeches were at least a decent length.

The stew might as well have been boiled water for all she tasted. She managed to empty the bowl though for a worrying moment thought she might follow by emptying her stomach. After stamping into the snug boots and snatching up the dress, Mai took a deep breath in the dazzling light and headed for the huddle of carriages winking through the copse.

Pots clattered, breakfasts burned and the air sizzled with rumours of last night's events. As if the whispers weren't trial enough, heads turned like sunflowers at noon to follow her passage through the maze of white tents. Wide-eyed silence descended and Mai felt slithering panic creep through her innards. Clutching the dress with white knuckles, she hurried for the sanctuary of a deserted infirmary. Or so she thought.

The fading fire must have been giving scant warmth to the porridge the handful of rumpled men slopped into their bowls. Mai froze, making sure she was from sight as the group sat to prod at their breakfasts.

'Hardly got any bloody sleep at all.' A sullen, sharp-nosed man was muttering. 'What with all that ruckus last night.'

A fellow with black braids with tiny bells – _bells_ – on them, stifled an impressive yawn. 'Not that nonsense about a flying Lurk again?'

'I keep telling you it wasn't a Fade. It had big, black eyes. And those wings.' The dour man hawked and spat into the fire. 'I'll say it again, that was no bloody Fade.'

'Wonder why it came here.'

'Ten crowns those Tinkers brought it.' A stout, balding man stabbed at his porridge. 'They'd steal your bairns before you could wink. Shifty, the lot of 'em'

'I reckon it's this place. Our luck's run low since we came here.'

A contemplative silence settled. Mai was about sneak away when a new voice snarled:

'It's that mongrel stray.'

All head swivelled to the burly man stooped on the log.

'Knew there was something about her.' He muttered, his bluff face working a slow frown. 'Got eyes to chill your marrow.'

'You think too much, Rae.' Braided-hair flashed the others a wide grin. 'What's Mai ever done to you?'

'I don't like her, is all.' Rae hunched deeper into his shoulders. 'Can't see what _he's_ keeping her 'round for. Got no use for her now.'

'Probably keeps his blankets warm. A high price for putting up being poked with all those bones, though.'

The dark fellow's braids tinkled as he nodded. 'Truly. But when the keg's run dry, a man'll settle for the dregs.'

Their laughter was bitter music to her ears.

'You all right there, girl?'

Despite the newcomers bulk, he had crept behind her as silently as a dormouse. She gave a stunned nod.

He clapped a meaty hand to her arm. 'There's a good lass.'

With a grin that split his impressive red beard, the man strode to the fire. 'What you waiting for, boys? Doom? Get your pathetic, snivelling rumps to the armoury. Move it, Rae, you scurvy lump of….'

Rubbing her shoulder, Mai slunk from the infirmary. More eyes were peering from the tents in response to the big man's bellow.

Most of her audience looked wary, as though expecting an explosion of tears at any moment. Others wore open smirks.

Bloody fools. She felt a sudden, stifling urge to scream. _Mongrel stray?_ Fire seared through her veins. She would show them. She would….'Oh bloody Light.'

Too late. He had surely seen her.

Less than a three-pace away, Cal was sitting on an upturned keg, the dregs of which had stained the ground a grim burgundy.

He acknowledged her with a twitch of his smile and carried on lathering a slice of soap over his jaw.

'Good morning, Mai.' He reached for the water-filled bowl at his feet. His blade made a sharp _tink_ as it clipped the porcelain. 'Feeling better?'

'Much.'

His eyes flicked in a deliberate fashion, seemingly in the direction of Mat's tent. 'It's amazing what a good night's sleep can achieve.'

Her smile faded. 'I wanted to thank you.'

The blade rasped as he drew it over his throat. 'Don't mention it.'

'No. What you did was very brave.'

'Hardly.' He scraped the edge over his cheek. 'Just good timing, I suppose.'

The knife dipped to the sud-scurfed water. He was stripped to the waist and already the sun had dusted a golden hue to his bare shoulders. Water slithered from the blade, glistened a trail to his belly.

'I thought you had left.' She blurted.

Silence. The only sound was the song of steel on flesh.

'That must have been dreadful for you.' He said finally, sweeping a white flannel over his face. 'Now, if you will excuse me, I think I'm going to take a bath.'

'You've cut yourself.'

Cal dabbed at his throat. 'So I have.'

He slicked the crimson smear on his breeches and walked from her with slow, heavy steps, the sunlight glinting on his broad shoulders.

Besotted? Poor Leilan had been wrong – the man could barely stand the sight of her.

* * *

He wasn't going to fall asleep. Not really. Even though the sun was a golden blanket and the grass a plump pillow for his head. Sighing, Mat pushed himself from his snug and forced his eyes to stay open.

Pips wiffled at a nearby turret, content with his roadside rest despite the flies that whipped his tail into frenzy. Mat might have been just as affable if that bloody storm hadn't snapped and yowled all night. It hadn't even had the decency to rain and now the morning burned like an unquenched thirst. But he had snored through worse and woken fresh as a dewdrop long after other storms had taken their complaints elsewhere. It was the Draghkar's fault he hadn't slept. Or the wine.

All he wanted was a bed. Nothing fancy, just a mite cozier than some clump of grass smack between the camp and that midden-heap, Laybridge. But some stupid urge trapped his bones and all for the off chance that a recent acquaintance just might happen by. Light, his luck was good, but it had its limits.

If only Tillalia's maps hadn't been so bloody useless. Despite the woman's assurance that the ink was barely dry on the things there was still no mention of a Farwell. The place must have sprung up like a toadstool after spring rain. The odds of him never having to darken Laybridge for more tidbits looked bleaker with every notch the sun climbed that sickeningly merry sky. He scowled as one of his mother's oft-intoned sayings interrupted his self-pity;

'Only a fool wishes for an easy life.'

_But he sure makes a cheery-looking corpse_. Mat smiled and fanned himself with his hat. Best that his mother had never heard that silent little addition.

He supposed his current task at least lent the happy opportunity of giving him a rest from the camp. He knew the men were edgy, but he could have done without Per and his; 'My Lord, the men are restless. The men need a distraction. The men are _bored_....'

'Fine, Per. Bloody, flaming fine.' The little fellow had leapt at him before he could hop from his tent, but he had still heard the girl's sobs through the wittering. 'Call a _torneien__._Weapons of choice, no steel, bronze or iron. Fifty crowns to the last man standing, twenty to his opponent.'

Per had simply blinked at him with those owl-eyes. Little wonder; there hadn't been a _torneien _for five hundred years. Flaming, flaming ashes. 'Just set a contest, Per. A few friendly spars with a prize for the winner.' Light, he wished the girl had stopped those sobs. 'Get the Redarms to watch over. Any broken heads, and I'll break another ten for each of them.'

And that should be keeping them busy.

Restless the men may be, but it was nothing compared to his plight. It was stronger this morning, choking almost, and the more he wrestled that invisible noose the tighter it snagged, yanking him towards the Light knows where. Just thinking about Rand and all that _ta'veren_ nonsense made his teeth ache but he had learned the hard way that resisting earned him nothing but strife and scars - and he had plenty of both already. A few days. Just a few more days, that's all he needed to ferret out some news.

Pillowing his head in laced fingers, Mat lay back down on the roadside. Still not so much of a hoof-beat from either direction.

Pips had ambled to a ridge of gorse, clearly intent in relieving the hedge of its small, yellow flowers. Unsurprisingly, the horse soon abandoned its quest with a pricked snout and much disgruntled snorting. Thick spines marred the branches of the gorse, black and vicious, but it was the paler smudge amongst the gnarled spines that lured Mat for a closer look. A pair of mice had been speared on the barbs, their tiny bodies limp and bloodied. Mat knew what predator would do such thing; the butcherbird was hardly rare. He had heard their shrill chatter all his life, a cry that chipped at the ears like a lime-chisel.

It had been a while since he had seen a Shrike's larder, though. The memory was patchy, just like the rest, but he clearly remembered the struggle to rein his mirth as Perrin paused a boyhood expedition to pluck three, tiny field mice from a berry-bramble. The snicker had finally got the better of him when his friend went on to dig a small hole. Rand's kick had soon snuffed that laugh and the taller boy hadn't stopped glaring until they were both kneeling to help Perrin pat the little animals into the dirt. He had chuckled about it for years afterwards, dredging the incident during a bout of banter or 'just happening' to mention it whenever Perrin was shyly talking to some village girl. But now, with roads stretching empty leagues into the distance and the drowsy heat fogging his mind, the beetle-black gaze of those dead mice made his skin feel a size too tight.

Shrugging his shoulders against such foolishness, Mat closed his eyes and let the sunlight seep into his muscles. In the soft, mock summer morning, its warmth was almost an embrace.

* * *

With the stares and whispers finally shielded by the leafy copse, Mai drew a long-awaited breath only for it to be clawed from her lungs. This was not going to be easy.

Dappled in sunlight and lively with sound, the Tua'athan camp was like some bright netherworld. Mai froze as a trio of children rushed to cling at her breeches. Cheeks plump with glee, they chirped excitedly at the prospect of a new playmate. Mortified at the attention, Mai tried to untangle their chubby fingers from her limbs.

'Good morning, Mai.'

Thea's smile almost shattered her tenuous reserve. She managed a curtsey that the children rushed to imitate, their eyes bright with mischief.

'May I speak with Tillalia?'

'Of course.' Thea motioned her to follow. The children trailed their shadows, tawny faces openly curious, until Thea shooed them into a squawking scatter.

Mai chanced a look at the girl gliding beside her. Thea was truly beautiful in repose, her tilted eyes tawny in the sunlight and her lips a perfect bow, the type she supposed most men would yearn to savour.

She cursed her treacherous complexion as her thoughts turned to the last victim of that rosebud smile.

The short walk to the carriages only served to worsen her dismay. The small encampment was disconcertingly merry. Music tripped from struck strings and every face bore a placid smile. How could they be so blithe? The small homes themselves sickened her with their crass flamboyance. Last night the carriages had looked unreal, dream-like. Her lips crooked at the comparison. By daylight, the caravans looked a counterpoint to her own dreams; nerve-shatteringly awful.

'I am glad you came.'

To the unwary ear, Thea sounded almost genuine. Mai quashed the uncharitable thought and masked her suspicion with serenity.

'I wanted to offer my regret. You were beyond honourable last night and yet I showed no respect. For that I cry your pardon.' Skirts held wide, Thea dropped a deep curtsey.

'Truly there's no need.'

The girl remained in that deferent pose.

'Thea, please. I give you pardon.'

Thea rose with stately grace, her proud bearing making Mai feel the humble one. 'Tidings, Mai. Please give Mat my regard.' A small smile. 'I wish you happiness with your chosen.'

'Cal is not my chosen.' She snapped.

Consternation marred Thea's brow. 'I do not—'

'Dearest.'

Mai wheezed as arms clasped her.

'Thank you for coming.'

Dressed tip to toe in purest white, Tillalia was even more beautiful than Mai remembered. The woman waited until Thea drifted back to the others before giving Mai a solemn look.

'I worried for you last night.'

'Oh, I was quite well. I wasn't alone.'

Tilly arched a brow. 'That's precisely my meaning.'

She felt like she should be blushing but it seemed sorrow was a harsher mistress than modesty.

'They all think the same.' Her tongue felt dry, awkward. 'And they think him a mockery for it.' Now indignation coloured her cheeks. That they should believe such things of him. Of her.

'Tongues will always wag, and often with due reason. My warning stands true, child.' Fingers curled around her own. 'Now, come along.'

She followed Tilly up creaking steps and through the snug doorway of a caravan. If she had not been so numb, Mai would have gaped in wonder. The bright, horrid hues had been drowned in flowers. Countless white blossoms, from daisies to eyebrights, bedecked chairs, tiny sills, and spilled onto the floor. But she had no time to wonder where the Tua'athan had harvested such a bounty. In the midst of all those ivory petals was Leilan, lying motionless and radiant as though she had merely paused for rest and fallen into slumber.

She dimly recalled Mat smoothing her hair as lightening tore the darkness, his low voice soothing the same assurance over and over; that Leilan wasn't dead. She hadn't believed it until now.

Leilan's cheeks were pink and her parted lips eased a slow, steady rhythm of breath. Again, Mai felt that overwhelming outrage. How could they mourn someone not yet dead?

The cabin suddenly reeked of the choking blossoms, rank in their sweetness. Mai wanted to tear at the hateful blooms, shriek at the wrongness of it all.

Her hand at least remained steady as she stroked Leilan's brow. It was still warm. 'I told her to run.'

'Because you thought that would save her.' Tillalia watched Leilan with soft, implacable eyes. 'What you did was admirable at the very least.'

'I should have done more. I should have screamed, warned the camp.'

'Oh, Andry did enough screaming for both of you.' Lips thinned in a grim smile. 'My nephew, not noted for his discretion, came roaring into the camp with a tale of some 'monstrous winged creature'. Your blond friend plunged into the night and by the time half the men had staggered afoot, Cal was back, you swooning in his arms and he silent and steadfast as a hero from the old yarns.'

'I suppose he didn't mention the part about me emptying my supper over his boots.'

'Oh, he's far too much of a gentleman for that, dearest.' A hand tilted her chin. 'And far too loyal and doting to a certain lady.'

Mai's smile died when she looked again to Leilan, half expecting to see her sweet smile and a teasing glint in her chestnut eyes.

I told you, Mai, try kissing him a few times. How she wished she could remember Leilan so; fond and playful, not lost in a bed of flowers like some alabaster doll. 

'Make your choice and be happy, Mai, but make it soon. The boy won't wait forever. Now, on your way.' Weariness tainted Tilly's rich voice and Mai realised that pragmatic smile hid a sorrow etched to the bone. 'Leilan will be glad you came to say goodbye.'

'Her dress….'

'It's yours. Leilan thought you a vision in it, and she never erred in matters of beauty.' Tillalia kissed her on each cheek. 'It's what she would have wanted.'

'Thank you.' Gulping against tears, Mai reached to stroke Leilan's tiny hand. 'What of the child?'

Silence. Unspilled tears blurred until Leilan seemed to drift in a corona of purest white. Mai placed a cheek to the girl's rounded belly. 'I'm sorry little one.'

She felt it then; a tiny flutter, like a moth wing in the dark and, despite the sick-sweet flowers, the cruel stillness and the distant, plaintive storm, Mai smiled.

* * *

_It was a low, dark growl, the sound of something faraway but growing steadily close. He thought it a dream until a roar split the darkness. A fang of jagged light had her trembling and clutching for his hand.___

_'It's just a storm.' Her cheek burned beneath his touch. 'Go back to sleep.'_

_The foxhead glinted at her throat. 'What if it's out there?'_

_'Then it wouldn't stand a chance.' He pulled her close. Her hair was a veil on his chest, warm and sweet as sunlit thistledown...._

The bawl of thunder jolted him upright. Wincing in the light, Mat pressed fists to his eyes and moaned.

_Bloody fool! Falling asleep when any idiot could happen by._

Sleep sliding from his flesh like a silken sheet, Mat struggled to his feet and hobbled to the dusty road. He was trying to walk the cramp from his limbs when another snarl of thunder rattled the pebbles. So the storm had returned after all. He was so certain he had been dreaming, something about lightening and nettles. Or was it thistles?

The jangle of bells roused him from these faintly troubling thoughts. His foot almost slipping on the moss-slick verge, Mat dashed to lean a nonchalant pose on Pips saddle.

Around the bend came the Bellwether, its shaggy head nodding in the heat, followed by the old grey-haired coot himself. Upon spying him, the man creaked his neck as though looking for some way of escape. Unless he fancied a scramble through several yards of gorse and hedgerow, his chances didn't look good. Evidently realising the same thing, the farmer plodded on, his woolly herd tottering behind.

Mat put on his best smile as the man grew near. 'Excuse me.'

The old shepherd muttered something that sounded like 'Gowway.'

'I was wondering if you could help me. I'm interested in what you said the last time we spoke. About the Whitecloaks.'

'Aye?'

'Let's see.' He made a show of pondering. 'Ah yes. 'They'll get theirs. Just like the last time.'' He grinned at the man's slitted gaze. 'I've a very good memory.'

'What you after?'

'Just a little information. I'm looking for someone who can tell me about a Farwell.'

The man stopped short. 'Why?'

'You know the place?'

'Aye, for all my efforts to rid it from my brain.' The fellow delved a grimy hand into a stained pocket and fished out a small, wooden box. 'Snuff?'

Mat shook his head.

'Suit yourself.' The man inhaled a pinch with loud relish, closed the box and pocketed it with a fond pat.

'Well?'

'Well what?'

Mat gritted his teeth. 'Can you tell me anything about Farwell?'

That earned him level stare. 'No need to snap your gums. Just be a waste of your time anyway.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

Rheumy eyes scanned the hazy horizon before settling on Mat. 'Farwell don't exist.'

'I thought you just said it was a place.'

The man gave a creaky nod.

'And now you're telling me that it never existed?'

'I said it _don't _exist. Place can't just dis'ppear - can be destroyed.' He spat hard, as though to rid a bitter taste. 'If I tell, you'll leave me be?'

Mat nodded, desperately reining the urge to shake the fool until his few remaining teeth rattled.

The old man hooked thumbs into his twine belt and chewed thoughtfully on his gums before beginning. 'It was a mining town, and a good one. Lots of folk got rich there. They brought families and made the place look more than the pock of dirt it was. Then the Whitecloaks came.' He forked a superstitious gesture and spat. 'Sniff wealth a hundred-pace off, those vermin can. Took the town under their _protection_, starting punishing folk to keep them cowed. Saw to it that the earth was all but picked clean. The place was full of mines and dust and sickness. But that wasn't the worst of it.' He gave a nasty chuckle, clearly relishing the promise of disaster. 'Those fools didn't think where to put all the muck they yanked out of the earth. They just piled it high 'til it was just another hill and put it out of their greedy minds. I warned them, mind. Had a sister there and told her straight. I said 'Mark my words, that'll come down and swamp the lot of you.' Even offered for her and the whelps to live with me for a time. But she was proud, her and that uppity husband both. Too used to the good life and hungry for the stuff that made them money.'

Silence save for bleat of the milling herd. 'What happened?'

Those choleric eyes took on a spiteful glint. 'It came down one morning. All the slurry, all at once. It buried the town and every soul in it. Some men from Laybridge went to see if they could drag any wretches from the muck. But we found nothing. All those people, and still nothing.'

Mat felt his hand drop from Pips' saddle. The only clue he had, and it was as good as useless.

'Sorry, boy.' The old shepherd mumbled, sounding anything but. 'Had you family there?'

'No. I was told that finding it could answer a few questions.'

'Farwell is a dead place. Best forgotten. Leave your questions be.'

The flock milled into a huddle as thunder, its cry wan and distant now, knelled beyond the barren dales. 'Are you sure that no one survived?'

'There was gossip, rumours that some had managed to flee. But I never met none. Seen the place with my own eyes. Old and weak they are, but saw enough. No soul could live through that.'

'Where is it?'

'City boy never heard of a map? Go find it yourself. I've told you plenty.'

'It's not on any—' He paused, a sick feeling brewing in his gut. 'How long ago did this happen?'

'About nine winters.' His voice was reedy on the dander-flecked air. 'You'll never find it. The place'll be nothing but grass and fen by now.'

With a bark that could have been a laugh or cough, the old man stumped on.

'Thanks for nothing, you bloody, flaming son of a goat-swilling--'

It was perhaps fortunate that a swell of thunder buried his expletives at that point. Pips flicked his ears and shot a reproachful look.

'Just shut up.' Mat flopped onto the grass and wrenched an unoffending clutch of forget-me-nots. Their sweet, familiar blue calmed him, if a little. He idly plucked the tiny petals and let them flutter to the ground.

His glare settled upon the two dead mice. Mat stood, flowers forgotten, and approached the grisly scene. Blood had caked the thorns and oozed to clot the leaves a macabre russet. Gently, he plucked first one then the other mouse from the thorn and dropped them to the grass. There. With a quick glance around, he fell to his knees and thumbed free a clod of dirt. When the two creatures were whisker to whisker in the small hole, Mat crumbled the earth over the tiny bodies and patted them into the ground.

Pips craned his neck as Mat put boot to stirrup.

'I said shut up.'

He vaulted into the saddle and heeled the gelding's flanks, the dying thunder an echo to the galloping hooves.

* * *

The storm had dwindled to an ashen smear when he thundered into the camp. Pips' sides were a strained bellow, and his legs shook as Mat yanked him to a halt. Uyren looked over the gelding's frothed muzzle and lathered sides with silent disapproval.

'No pasture.' Mat tossed the reins to the burly fellow. 'Feed and settle him for the night.' Was his parting command as he left the roan huffing at the groom.

Mat stomped past the deserted tents, too livid to give much thought as to why the place was so quiet.

It was the furious clack of wood that finally penetrated his foul mood. It didn't take him long to find the men huddled around the unmistakable scuffle of a practice ring. He waded through the knot of bodies, not caring about feet he trampled or ribs he nudged.

'Per!'

A small head popped up like a moorhen amongst reeds. 'My Lord?'

'What the bloody Light is going on?'

Per piped something above the crowd.

'_What_?'

The man edged through the throng, muttering apologies at those who shunted him like a dinghy at high tide. 'A contest, my Lord,' he gasped. 'Is that not what you decreed?'

Ashes. What was had he been thinking?

'Of course, of course. I was just wondering how things were coming along.'

'Well, Estean fought tremendously well, my Lord. And young Trey, he gave quite a performance. Talmanes was in fine fettle until that tall Saldean fellow clipped him quite senseless and Delaine is positively….'

Mat left Per twittering to his shadow. He had seen enough to know the whole thing had sunk into a melee. Bloody marvellous.

He tramped towards a very sorry-looking Nalesean. The man was sitting on the scrubby grass, one hand to his gullet and the other holding a dripping cloth to his temple.

'What happened to you?'

'Estean.' His voice was even hoarser than usual. 'The little git tried to rip my throat out.'

'What about that?'

Nalesean lifted his hand to reveal a nasty knot on his forehead. 'Ferrell's doing.'

Mat gave an appreciative whistle.

'Wasn't happy that I didn't break when he called foul.' He covered the purpling lump with a grimace. 'Who's fool idea was this anyway?'

'Mat.' Estean almost tripped over his own toes as he hurtled towards them. 'Where have you been?'

'Enjoying the countryside.' He drawled.

Estean had spied Nalesean glaring at him from his uncovered eye. The boy sidled until he had Mat positioned between himself and the scowling Tairen.

'Some of the men were wondering if you would have a turn. There's just the one round left, you know.'

'Aye, Mat.' Nalesean's eye took on a spiteful glint. 'It's only sporting to let our champion bask in your presence.'

Mat clenched his fists. Right now, he had never needed to hit something so badly – which made it the worst possible time for a fight.

Estean's simper was bad enough, but Nalesean's questioning smirk was nothing short of a challenge.

Mat gritted a smile, turned and trudged for the clump of men, telling himself that a good, friendly spar might be just the thing to set his mood to rights. The crowd raised a cheer when they saw his intention and Mat aired a gracious wave. He was actually grinning by the time he stepped into the circle, a positive picture of geniality. Until he saw his opponent.

Cal stood in the centre of the ring, not at all breathless and hardly sweating a drop. The man had already chosen his weapon; a narrow sword length of willow planted nub-first in the dust. His brief enthusiasm well and truly snuffed, Mat plodded to a nearby rack. He took as long as possible choosing a staff, tilting it this way and that as though testing its mettle while frantically trying to work a way out of this mess. Cal looked on, all indolent disinterest as he rested his sword-arm on that wicked epée. It was not until the man flicked a look to the crowd that something other than scorn registered in his eyes.

Mat tracked that glance to a very familiar face amongst the throng. His smile, the first genuine reaction in this nightmare of a morning, seemed to soften her concern.

Dust puffed from his boot heels as Mat sauntered to his opponent.

Cal smiled. 'To the victor the spoils?'

'Why not? You could make good on all that coin you've wagered.'

Cal's grin grew tight. 'I'm not talking about gold.'

'Clean fight.' Ferrell cut a menacing figure as he strode to tower above them. The big man's hand seemed to dwarf Cal's shoulder and Mat's own knees almost buckled under Ferrell's hearty slap. 'No kicking, biting or head-blows. And keep all the jabs above the waist.' The bearded man dropped Mat a wink. 'Agreed?'

Mat nodded.

Ferrell glared at Cal, who matched that fiery look with a barely contained smirk.

What was the man playing at? Just when it seemed that Cal was in line for an impromptu cuff to the head, he presented a flowery bow and a disarming, 'Of course.'

His colourful curse thankfully muffled by his red beard, Ferrell backed a few paces. 'On my mark. And when I call break, make sure you bloody break.' He threw a meaningful look in Nalesean's direction. 'Mark.'

Mat adopted a narrow stance, one that he knew would best counter Cal's brand of attack. His opponent, however, simply raised the willow length in strange salute, his glare made all the more sinister for being split by a blade edge, wooden or no.

'Begin.'

The willow wailed through the air. Mat staggered as the blade whistled past his hip to shear a furrow in the dirt. Grip tightening, Mat whirled the staff and locked the sword-tip to the ground. The vivid smack of wood rang in the silence. 'Good move.'

Grimacing, Cal clipped the blade free and stepped back.

'Break.'

The sword whicked past his ear. Mat dodged the fast, upward swipe, an outraged cry strangling his throat. His ankle twisted in a bright spark of pain.

'Burn you, Delaine, _break_.'

Cal spun away with a snarl. Hacking at the dust in his throat, Mat steadied hands on knees and gasped a breath. The blonde man paced before him, eyes hooded and feral.

'Cool your heels, Delaine.' Ferrell snapped. 'Mat?'

Mat straightened with a nod.

Disapproval darkened Ferrell's face. 'Mark.'

Cal raised the sword before him in that strange salute, his eyes dark enough to sear the stout willow. Mat let him wait, walking the kink from his ankle before planting a deliberate stance. He gave his most insolent grin. 'Play nice.'

He was ready this time, blocking Cal's thrusts with whirls of the staff, hoping the man would wear off a little steam. No such luck.

Face twisted in a savage snarl, Cal launched parries and lunges as though trying to drive true steel between Mat's ribs. They were both panting when Ferrell called the next break.

'Friendly spar, not brawl, remember?' Mat thumbed the sweat from his eyes. 'Ease up a little.'

'Why? Getting tired?' A vicious smile. 'But then, I don't suppose you got much sleep last night.'

'Oh, it takes more than a little storm to keep me awake.'

Cal lashed with the blade. Cursing, Mat feinted wide then snapped back, twisting the staff with a sharp flick of his wrists.

There was a crack and a harsh intake of breath. Tossing the sword to his other hand, Cal sucked bruised knuckles and glowered.

Ignoring Ferrell's outraged '_Foul_!', Mat levelled the quarterstaff at Cal's chest. 'I will call end to this now if you keep trying to split my flaming skull.'

'Why? Can't stand not being the victor for once?'

'Light. Here, have your bloody win.' A muted gasp sounded as the staff clattered in the dust. 'Congratulations.'

Cal snatched up the staff and thrust it at him before he could cry yield. 'The least you can do is fight.'

'Enough.' Mat grabbed the weapon but held it clamped to his side. 'You're not yourself.'****

'I saved her this time, Mat. _Me_. But she still ended up in your bed.'

Mat barked an incredulous laugh – which was something of a mistake.

The feint was quick, so quick that Mat didn't register the true blow until he was gasping in the dust.

'_Break_.'

Hand clutched to his ribs, Mat spat into the dirt, Ferrell's livid bark humming in his ears.

Cal stood over him. 'Thought she had a shine for you.' He breathed. 'Just never thought she'd stoop to being a farmboy's whore.'

The staff streaked upwards. Cal reeled from the strike with a strangled grunt. Mat lunged, ready to plough the man to the ground when an arm swung about his chest, tearing him back.

'I said break, lad.' Ferrell's nose was all but pressed against his own. 'Calm down.'

Cal's teeth bared in a near triumphant smile as he inspected bloodied fingertips. Her cheeks pale, Mai rushed to attend the gash on the man's brow, stroking his hair from the wound in a near caress.

Breathing hard, Mat wrenched free of Ferrell's grip.

Indecision warred with the concern on Mai's face. Blood was running freely now, spilling over Cal's cheek like some grisly mask. She shot a look at Mat, frustration and appeal in equal measure, and then she was leading the blonde man through the murmuring crowd.

Hobbling to an obliging rock, Mat sank down with a hiss. Light, but his ribs were on fire.

'Any broke?'

'I bloody well hope not.'

Ferrell nodded but kept watching him, his pale eyes no less intimidating despite their concern. 'That was dicey.'

Mat grunted.

'You could have broken the fellow's head.'

'Only to stop him breaking mine.' He winced as he probed at his tender side.

'Want me to fetch Mai?'

'I think she's busy.'

There was not a hint of the girl's customary calm now. Her cheeks were pale as she fussed about Cal, holding her hand before him and demanding that he follow that finger and count these fingers and did he feel sick, faint, ill? For his part, Cal sat slumped on the grass, his gaze only lifting from the dirt to follow the girl's increasingly strange commands.

'Don't know what's gotten into that lad.' Ferrell shook his head. 'Thought he had some promise, but a temper like that's use to no one.'

Mai pressed a cloth into Cal's hand and mimed raising it to her brow. After a moment, Cal followed her lead, wincing a little as the cloth touched his torn flesh. The man swayed when Mai helped him to his feet but quickly shrugged off the girl's help. She watched him limp away, her sleek braid swaying almost to the small of her back. He had a brief image, almost painful in its clarity, of that hair draped across his chest like a fragrant veil. Light, maybe Cal had landed a drub to his head after all.

Then Mai was striding towards him, her lips set in a firm line.

'Captain Ferrell, would you be so kind as to fetch an alum-salve from my bag? Per will show you where to find it.'

The bearded man gave a bow worthy of the finest court and, sparing a consoling look for Mat, set off on his mission.

Mai watched him leave with hands planted on hips too narrow for even the smallest breeches he had found for her. The shirt was nearly as loose. Well, in most places. He made a play of wide-eyed innocence when she rounded upon him.

'What is the matter with you two?' She demanded when Ferrell had blundered from earshot. 'I thought you were hurt.'

'I _am_ hurt. Besides, it was Cal's fault.'

'How exactly?'

'He—' Her face was flushed, her gaze large and expectant. 'It doesn't matter.'

Blue eyes lingered on his face, as though searching for the lie. He shifted under her scrutiny then hissed as pain jabbed his side.

'Here, let me see.'

Mat fended off her touch. 'They're not broken.'

'And you would know?' She scorned, slapping his hand away. 'How does that feel?'

'Cold.'

She shot him a flat look. 'What about this?'

He swore as her cool fingers probed a raw spot.

'Bruised.' She announced. 'Don't look so smug. I still need to bind them.'

'Sure you can spare the bandages?' He gave her a sly grin, pleased by the sudden colour in her cheeks. Point scored, he gingerly shucked the sweat-slicked shirt over his head.

Mai stared at him in her confounded way, brows creased in that elusive frown. So far, he had narrowed its source as one of two things; deep, meaningful thought or delayed shock at her current situation. Or it could be a mere product of all those strange, female things running through her head. Still, it would make his life a lot easier if she sniffed or tugged on that braid from time to time.

'You've a lot of scars.' She noted in a cool voice. 'Do they pain you?'

'This one,' he pointed at the tail of a ragged scar. 'Aches in damp weather and this one,' his finger slid to a puckered dent just above his hip. 'Complains when its warm. He and I are not on good terms right now.'

'And this?'

He watched her trace the thin ribbon of flesh slanting to his navel. 'Silent as the grave.'

Her gaze lingered on his throat. The scarf had slid free of its knot to dangle uselessly on his chest. The unfamiliar weight of another's eyes on that scar made him shiver. 'Did you see Tilly off?' He asked, a little more gruffly than he intended.

She looked away as he fumbled at the scarf. 'Yes.'

'Then I'm sorry.'

'Sorry?'

'For running off earlier. I should have escorted you.'

That earned him one of her looks, the one he rather favoured; wide-eyed and artless. He thought it meant he had surprised her somehow, in a good way. Not that he strove for that look. It was just nice when one came along.

'I'm sure you had somewhere important to be. Besides, it's I who should be apologizing. I was wrong to trouble you last night.'

'What trouble? You don't snore, you know.'

She flashed him a smile. They were still rare enough to startle him and, as usual, they did not linger. 'Mat, did it hurt when you got your memories back?'

It took him a second to absorb her words. He leaned closer. 'What's happened?'

'Last night I remembered something. Before the attack, I mean. It was a girl.'

'And you've no idea—'

'Who she is? No. But I've seen her in my dreams. When I saw her last night it made me sick, Mat. Light, it made me so sick. And I'm afraid of what might happen if….I'm afraid of what will happen when I find out who she is. Who they all are.' Her plaintive whisper made him forget his dented ribs. Then, quickly as it came, the anguish faded from her eyes. 'I'm sorry. You're sore and I'm blathering on about my fool memories.'

He almost choked. That she, with all her troubles, could put his rack of bruised ribs first…'Thought is the arrow of time; memory never fades. What was asked is given. The price is paid_._'

Her stare was quizzical, wondering, those eyes impossibly blue.

'You won't have to pay for what you want. I swear it, _seiera_.' On impulse, he took her pale, slender hand and raised it to his cheek. 'I swear it.'

The girl stiffened. Her gaze slid to his bare throat, grew wide with comprehension.

Slowly, oh so slowly, her thumb stroked his jaw. He saw the sun had hatched a spray of freckles on her nose, tipped the dark sweep of her eyelashes with gold. Now there was a light of empathy in her eyes, a shadow of understanding.

He lost a breath as she caressed his cheek.

_Dovie'andi se tovya sagain._

'Mai, does Daughter of the—'

'I found it.'

Her hand jerked from his face. Both looked up to see Ferrell holding a small jar proudly aloft.

'Per weaselled it out in no time.' The big man dropped the pot into Mai's palm.

'Thank you.' She murmured, turning to swipe at her tears.

Ferrell frowned. 'Something wrong?'

'Surely you must be used to your effect on women by now, Captain.'

'Funny, Cauthon. Very funny.'

Mai was looking at him askance, her lips curved in a grateful smile as she began to stroke the balm to his tender short-ribs.

'What was it you were talking about?' Ferrell boomed. 'Daughter of the something. Reminds me of a tavern I once visited. There was this wench there that—'

'Just the name of a book I once read.'

The lie ended in a wheeze as Mai yanked the bandage around his middle.

'Best not to listen, Ferrell.' Her fingers worked a knot in place. 'He speaks such nonsense sometimes.'

'So you've said.' Mat gasped.

A sound escaped her, a soft, low ripple of amusement. 'Now, my lords, I trust you will excuse me.' Her face a little pink, Mai gathered an armful of spilled bandages, dropped a practised curtsey and left, her braid swinging to the measure of her slow, lilting steps.

'Spread the order, Ferrell. We're leaving.'

'When?'

Tonight he would sneak into Laybridge. The thought sent a thrill through him, like filching pies on a Sunday or stealing a moonlight kiss.

He saw her tilt a smile over her shoulder and again heard that low, rippling sound. Then it struck him; it was the first time he had heard her laugh. _Mael, mi seiera'an mai?_

'Tomorrow.' The smile he gave Ferrell was too wide, too bright. 'We leave tomorrow.'

* * *

**Trans**. -Time to toss the dice. 

**End Note** – The untranslated words/phrases in this chapter are all derived from a genuine Old Tongue resource. As for their meaning….well, you're on your own there kiddo **;)**


	20. Chapter Nineteen

(**A/N** – Hullo. Owing to glorious reviews from Lolli and VercisIsolde, I've shunted the customary comments section to the end of the chapter. Unfortunately, you'll have to wade through this lot to get there. Or, you could skip right to the end. It's really up to you.)

**Disclaimer** - WoT is a many-splendoured thing – and I don't own it.

**Chapter Nineteen**

Cackles and drink-soaked song racketed in the darkness as two men, bottles clenched in fists and faces smeared with grins, wove across the vacant square. Mat watched their shadows seep into the night before he crept from the alcove. Sputtered torches grazed the yard with amber light. A thick pole jutted from the centre of the square, its head a mass of limp ribbons, and garlands festooned crusted buildings like choke-weed on dying wood.

The place was prepared for some sort of festival. He had seen candles on every sill, a token of calm and reflection before the celebrations. The dawn would rouse spirits intent on revelry but tonight Laybridge held its breath.

A hunch of wooden struts, slatted and squat like the skeleton of a huge beast, gave him enough shelter to check the street was clear. Judging by its size, the half-built platform looked to be a stage of some kind. Whatever it was to become, Mat was grateful for its cover.

He ducked into a wide lane, dodging splashes of torchlight and panes ghosted with movement. The smell of roasting flesh was a greasy fog and slicks of blood, naphtha black in the moonlight, glossed gutters where the night creatures feasted. A glut of livestock had been slaughtered for tomorrow's feasting. Likely the place would stink of rot and spoil for weeks.

He batted at a swarm of bitemes then paused as something rustled the silence. A mange-patched dog slinked from an alleyway and darted from sight. But it wasn't the dog that made his heart fail a beat. He stared at his right palm. It was empty.

He was a fool for trying to draw the dagger in the first place, twice a fool for forgetting to tuck it in his sleeve besides. Unnerved, he bent to check his boot-tops. At least he had not neglected to squirrel his blades there.

Not that he would need them. Mai had eventually confessed where he would find the mapmakers den and Mat had no intention of cutting through swathes of Whitecloaks to get there. Eren Baine was dead, she had murmured as he saddled Pips, but rumour held that another scribe maintained the practice.

'Be on your guard.' She had been close, so close her lips had grazed his cheek. 'Or I might not care to fix your hide when you return.' A smile in the dark, a sighed whisper, and then she was gone.

_Don't leave me alone. _Her parting words were like a beacon even as the torchlight dimmed around him. Soon, he was searching the streets with only the guide of a waxing moon. A kissing moon they had called it at home, where silver-lit harvests provided ample opportunity for the pursuit.

Sunburst banners, starched and proud, swung from doorways and sills like countless cold dawns. Mat tried to ignore them as he headed deep into the danker heart of Laybridge. Windows gaped black in this fetid quarter of the town, those inside eager to save precious tallow or rebellious of the ritual of a festive-eve.

Here, sharp eyes watched from odorous alleyways where dice-sups chattered and whispers broke into cawed laughter. Taverns were dark and shuttered although hidden doorways spilled the odd drunkard to whistle a plaintive tune between swigs of ale. A young girl, her skirts stitched to expose a black stocking, cooed as she plucked coin from an eager palm and Mat kept his head low as she pulled the man into pitch-shadows, a doll's smile on her painted lips.

He was close to his destination when something hurtled past his ankles, something dark and panicked. Mat stared at the speeding cockerel then staggered as a body dived onto the bird, thudding both to the cobbles with a respective squawk and grunt.

'Sorry 'bout that.' The young man managed to scrabble to his feet while wrestling the bird into the crook of one scrawny arm. 'Couldn't let him get away. He's my prize feather.'

The bird, its scrawny neck awry as it croaked and pecked at its captor, wouldn't have won any prizes in Emond's Field. Then Mat saw the wicked hooks and barbs meshed with its talons, the wide-lipped gouges and clotted feathers on its breast. Despite himself, his knuckles bunched into fists.

'Fancy a flutter?' The boy drawled, grinning at his own lightening wit.

'Won't you get in trouble for that?' He ground out.

'Nah. Ain't birds they're interested in, mate. Your loss.' The fool touched his cloth cap and hurried to his rowdy comrades.

Mat watched him toss the cockerel into a well of matted straw then stomped on before the bloodied feathers began to fly.

He remembered to tread more carefully when he turned the next corner. Silence. He hurried to the cracked, grey-washed building hung with notched ivy, the first scrap of green he had seen in this fleapit. The faded sign was lit by feeble torchlight; upon it was a painted scroll and long, curled quill.

He planted a foot on the lichen-crusted step and rapped the doorframe. He heard movement, scuffed footsteps on creaking boards. The cracked window was suffused with bobbing light and a bolt rang free. The door opened to a slice of candlelight and a pair of wide eyes.

'Good evening, my lady.' He backed a pace, not wanting to alarm the woman. 'I'm sorry to trouble you at such an hour, but it's very important.'

'Not to me. Come back in the morning.'

'Please.' He resisted stuffing a foot in the doorway as the chink of light narrowed. 'Allow me a little time. I just need a map and I'll pay you well for it.'

'You're of the camp outside town.'

It was more observation than question but Mat nodded.

The door cracked wider. Suspicious eyes raked him from hair-tip to toenail. 'I expect to know the name of one who enters my home.'

'Forgive me. My name is Thom. Thom Grinwell.'

Another shrewd look and the door swung wide. He had barely got his rump over the threshold when the door snicked behind him.

'I am Arli.' Her hands snapped from one bolt to the next. 'Sit, Master Grinwell.'

'Thom, please.'

'My husband is chopping wood out back.'

His smile wilted. 'I mean you no harm.'

A rough-hewn cradle squatted before the fire and the woman glided to it, her feet expertly dodging the furled edges of an ember-pocked rug. 'Sit.'

Mat skirted the villainous rug and eased into a hard chair. The woman proceeded to rock the cradle and ignore him save to arrow a dark look when he drummed a quick rhythm on the scratched tabletop. He reached instead for his hat then remembered he had left it at the camp. A curse earned another glare from his stern hostess.

He risked another smile. 'Madam….'

'Arli.'

'Right. Arli, do you suppose you could help me find that map?'

'I don't see why not. Tea?'

'I wouldn't want to intrude.'

'Too late for that.' Arli had already swept to the hearth. The stove was a huge, wicked thing that licked the nearby wall with black flames. Despite the heat, he welcomed the homeliness of the spitting, cherry coals.

'Can't spare the milk, I'm afraid.'

'I'll be fine without.'

He rubbed damp palms on his breeches and glanced around the snug kitchen. A large, oaken dresser propped the opposite wall, its shelves laden with crockery and painted cups. They looked at odds with the dull boards, heavy beams and sparse furniture. Mellow beeswax scented the kitchen, as though the floors had recently been polished, but the place had an underlying aroma; baked bread and new-churned butter, cloves and tart apple pies and milk warmed on the hearth, so different from the reek of oiled iron and steel, of damp earth and sun-scorched canvas.

Arli was still puttering about the stove. She smoothed an apron over generous hips, fetched two delicate cups from the dresser and poured tea from the piping kettle.

'Thank you.' He grasped the saucer, wondering at how unfamiliar such luxuries felt.

A cloying fog of lavender assailed him as the woman settled at the table. 'It's not often I receive a guest. Much less a midnight visit from a mysterious stranger.'

Unsure how to respond, Mat sipped at the tea. It was good, smooth and sweet despite a whirl of bitter leaf.

'And in search of a map. Of all things, you do not strike me as the adventurous type.'

Mat imagined how he must look; face tanned and artfully guileless, hair mussed, scuffed boots and breeches of the plainest weave – a sprig of straw in his teeth and he could have just finished a stint in the cowshed. 'I suppose not.' He assumed a rueful grin.

'Indeed? Still, you must have travelled from somewhere.' She leaned closer. 'Tell me, what news is there from outland? I have heard talk of a Dragonsworn—'

'I don't know much of that.' His drawl had slipped into pure Two Rivers brogue. It pained that he hadn't even realised his tongue had lost that soft burr. 'Rumour doesn't interest me. I just want a peek at the world before I settle my da's land.'

'Then you have the right of it. Do not get let time pass you by, Thom.' She smiled, wistful and small. 'See all you can.'

'That's sort of why I need this map—'

A wail sounded from the direction of the hearth. Mat drained the cup and let it clatter to the saucer as Arli hurried to the crib. She returned, jouncing the child on her hip, and shot Mat a measured look.

'His father passed away last autumn.'

'I'm sorry.'

She nodded. 'Folk around here don't like newcomers. By the time we realised, Eren was already sick, too sick to uproot again.'

Mat looked to the babe staring at him through dark, damp lashes and found that he felt nothing. Light, what had he turned into?

'Laybridge does not trust strangers, you should heed that.'

The baby breathed a fluting sigh and Arli stroked his cheek. The tenderness in her eyes was unsettling.

'What map do you seek?' She asked finally.

'Any one with a Farwell on it.'

'Is the place nearby?'

'I think so. I spoke to someone who said that folk in Laybridge went to its aid once. But it no longer exists. I need older maps, if you have them.'

Arli placed the dozing child in its cot then walked to a small porch. 'Come.'

Bobbing candlelight guided them to the cellar where their long shadows loomed in the huddled space. Dust and mildew replaced the comfort scents of the kitchen, cobwebs billowed and tiny creatures scuttled from the meagre light. Mat's stomach dipped to his boots; row upon endless row of tight, yellow scrolls buried the far wall.

'Don't worry.' Arli assured as she trotted towards the mass of parchment. 'Eren made sense of all this before—' She turned quickly, her hands deft as she foraged through the scrolls. When his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw most of the maps had been marked with numbers and coloured seals. Arli gave a watery smile as she heaped a pile of scrolls into his arms. 'These should be enough for now.'

With a sense of rising doom, Mat tramped up the stairs and into the kitchen. Light, he was anything but a scholar. How was he supposed to wade through all these?

By the time Arli trotted into the kitchen, he had already sunk his head to the table.

'Oh, don't be such a fusspot.' She unrolled a grimy parchment and thrust it at him. 'Soonest started, soonest finished.'

Her pose and tone were horribly familiar; Light, the last thing he needed was a dose of Nynaeve. Arli took one look at his face and retreated to her knitting.

Mould clung to the parchments and they carried a distinct whiff of decay. Some of the edges crumbled at his touch and others were stained to ruin. The first batch yielded a bounty of sneezes but no mention of Farwell. Mat trudged a second trip to the cellar, his mood as dark as the grimy little room.

He was flailing a belligerent earwig from his sleeve when he spotted a golden crest.

'Oh, don't mind those.' Arli barged him aside to snatch the wax-sealed papers but not before Mat had glimpsed the sunburst sigils.

'Eren agreed to be their record-holder, not that he had much choice.' She dropped the parchments into a dark corner, her lips thin and white. 'The sooner they're from under my roof, the better.'

Insect-free and back before the crackling hearth, Mat unfurled the next parchment and sighed. Arli left him brood, content to watch him from the comfort of an old rocker. The steady _eek_ of the boards made his cheek twitch.

He was cursing over an impossible parchment – one where a greenish blot ruled half of Andor and Tar Valon had fallen foul of a peckish paper-mite – when a warm hand covered his own.

'I added something stronger. You look like you need it.'

He managed a smile as Arli set a steaming cup on the table.

'This must be very important to you.'

'I made a promise.'

'And you would do anything to honour it.' She sat and propped her chin in her hand. 'Eren was the same, forever making debts he could ill afford to honour. But he always did. My Eren never let anyone down.'

Unnerved by the dewy look in the woman's eyes, Mat gulped from the cup and almost spattered the choking mouthful over an etched, gulls-eye view of Cairhein.

Arli laughed, a rich, deep sound. 'I'm sorry. I should have warned you Eren's distils can be a touch potent.'

He managed a grin between coughs. The drink was a snug coal in his belly, draining the tension from his limbs. Arli was still smiling at him. Wisps of her wheat-coloured hair had feathered about her rosy face. He realised she was young, big-eyed and prettily plump; all things he usually found appealing. He rubbed his nose against another waft of lavender and tossed the useless scroll aside.

'Let me try.' Arli flattened a small map and bent until her nose grazed the tabletop. 'What was the name of that place again?'

'Farwell.' He replied, gloomily.

Her finger jabbed at the map. 'Thom, it's right here.'

Dashing to her side, Mat peered at the small, reddish dot. Above it, scribed with meticulous care, was a familiar, innocuous little word.

Arli matched his delighted grin. He jammed a candleholder to mark the spot and flung his arms about her soft waist. She giggled then crooned when he doubled over his creaking ribs.

'You're a wonder. ' He gasped, shrugging off her concern. 'Thank you.'

He blinked as her warm hand cupped his face.

'Dust.' She blushed and fussed at his cheek.

'I have to go.'

Her panicked grip stopped him reaching for the map.

'You cannot. If you leave now, they will find you.'

'Hardly.'

'Listen to me. Their numbers are always greatest before dawn. You have to stay until the mounted guard break watch. I'll help sneak out unnoticed in the time it takes them to change.' She tugged him from the door. 'You cannot leave yet.'

'Arli, calm down—'

'They will find you. No word of a lie, Thom.' Her eyes searched his face. 'They hate people leaving this town, but they hate newcomers more. They only spared Eren for his trade.' Tears glistened in that frantic gaze.

_Don't leave me alone._ The whispered words surfaced and shivered on a tide of sudden fear. Just a few more hours. Cal would look after her. And no one cared for the girl more than Cal. _No one?_

'I really should go.' He raked his hair, hating the lack of conviction in his voice.

'We time our lives by their watch-changes, know when it's safest to be abroad. If you leave now, they will kill you. If you're lucky.'

He remembered the glint of sunlight on gold spurs and shivered.

The baby began to whimper. Arli glanced to the cot, fear plain in her gaze.

'Light, why didn't you tell me? Why let me in if it put you in such danger?'

He knew before she spoke, knew it by her flush, her sudden touch.

'It gets cold here. So cold, Thom.'

Her hand slid from his chest, lingered on his belly. Her cheeks were round and rosy, her eyes a soft, cornflower blue, not the chill blaze of a winter sky.

'Bloody Light.' Mat shook free of her grip and jerked the door wide. The street was a pool of shadow, the air still and empty. But there was movement in the darkness. The faint strike of hooves on stone. More than one set of hooves. Sucking a deep breath, he pulled the door behind him.

Arli looked up as he shut out the night. Her eyes were brazen as the fire when they met his.

'You're right. It is cold out there.'

In the fitful glow of hearth-light, Arli smiled.

* * *

_In the dream she walks. Bare feet pillowed by damp moss, hips caressed by tawny grass, she moves, silent as a cat. Snails crack underfoot and she rubs palms to skirts already damp with cuckoo-spittle and midnight dew. Night blooms unfold their dark, secret hearts at the merest shiver, daubing her naked arms with stains that snare thistledown and gossamer like silken trophies. And all the while the moon burns, throbs to the murmur of cicada song...._

Mai jolted upright. She sat and studied her shaking hands in the candlelight, still feeling the slick stains upon her flesh, the rasp of wet grass against her ankles. But it was not the dream that troubled her.

Something was wrong, a warning pulse like a spider-thread pricked by some minute creature.

She was not alone.

Outside the awning, something moved, rustled below the steady _reek reek_ of cricket-call. The candle guttered as a breeze slid into the tent and a sliver of darkness split the canopy.

Clothes whispered as he entered. A swirl of wine and tabac spiced the humid air.

His shirt was unlaced and candlelight gleamed on his sweat-slicked chest.

'What is it?' Her words were slow and thick with sleep. She rose on unsteady feet, walked to him. 'Is something wrong?'

He kissed her.

Cold, the numb, desperate cold of plunging into ice water with no knowing when the next breath would come. Her sigh melted into moan as hands slid to her waist, their grip warm and strong and eager. He tasted of moonlight and embers and the softest summer breeze. Breath came in spiked gasps as his lips relinquished hers to trail down her flesh, sinking to the hollow of her throat.

She snaked bare arms about his neck, clasping him closer still as he whispered his secret words into her hair. Her mouth pressed frantic kisses against his throat, kisses fevered by the ridged scar marring his salt-sweet flesh.

She barely felt the ground beneath her arched back, was conscious only of his warm weight, the rasp of his unshaved cheek.

It was the exquisite agony that finally made her cry out. She shuddered as he kissed her, tasting her before abandoning their locked embrace. He stood, eyes dark and glittering, and reached for the knife jutting from her breast.

Her own hand stuttered to grasp his, now hot and slick with blood. Panting with pain, she blinked through tears and saw him smile. Their hands twined on the hilt before he drew away, sliding the dagger to weep blood on her juddering body. Her heart was a vice as Mat blew a tender kiss.

_Weep, my little Sorrow_….

--oOo--

....she wailed and her mouth was suddenly filled with grass and dirt. Mai pushed onto hands and knees and gagged. Tears dripped to the mossy ground. She rubbed at cheeks still damp from being mashed against the dewed earth and fell on her haunches, rolled her eyes to the black sky. Stars glittered, winked as though they shared the cruel jest. Blights and thistle-ruff clung to her eyelashes and skin stained with petal juices and crushed row-leaves.

'_Don't leave me alone_.'

The cry had her gasping until tiny, swirling motes swallowed the spiteful stars.

She had walked here, struggled to fight sleep and the dreams that lurked behind her weak defences. Fought and lost. The memory of midnight wings had her staggering to the camp. She ran, her feet tripping on stones and knotted roots, instinct a guide to her fear. Great, dry sobs racked her as she fell into his tent. Moonlight led her to a nest of cold cushions and empty blankets.

'Don't leave me alone.' She grasped the pillows to her breasts. 'Please. Don't leave me alone.'

Something glittered in the frosted light. Her hand trembled as she plucked it from the ground. It was cold to the touch, its hard lines sleek and forbidden. Mind a rage of terror, Mai clutched the knife and plunged into the night.

* * *

Dawn. Its frail light crept across a tangle of sheets, over the still forms of the lovers and finally fluttered open a pair of sleepy brown eyes. 

The owner of that troubled gaze moaned and kicked his feet from the knotted blankets. A mirror threw his reflection as he pushed onto his elbows; two straggled, haggard and thoroughly miserable Mat Cauthons blinked at one another in the cold light.

His companion stirred, sighed and smiled. A hand touched his back.

'I was just about to wake you.'

Her eyes were soft and warm. He had dreamed of winter skies.

'The watch will change soon.'

Nodding, he reached for his clothes. He could feel her gaze upon him.

'Who is she?'

'She?'

'The ghost in our bed.'

He turned. Arli had wrapped the blanket about dusky flesh almost the same hue as his own skin. Hurt was stamped in her eyes but not enough to overwhelm the glow of gratitude. He didn't know which repelled him the most.

'Nobody.'

The shirt rasped over tender flesh in his hurry to cover his nakedness. A glimpse at the mirror told him the woman was studying the fresh scores on his back; her blush may have been chagrin but that smile was pure triumph.

After hoisting on his breeches and boots he managed a wan grin. 'Any chance of breakfast?'

'Find what you want in the kitchen.'

The stairs creaked in his haste. He could hear her padding about the bedchamber. Strange that she had not called for her husband. He had expected it. But there was no mistaking her urgency, her desperation for something other than the cold comfort of strangers. His bloodied back was testament of that.

The babe wailed as he trudged into the kitchen to cast a dubious eye over the myriad cupboards and shelves. He managed to root out a loaf of bread and pat of near-liquid butter as well as some dried winter fruit and berries. The child's complaints were an echo of his mood. He chewed on the stale bread and crept to the cradle. The babe quietened when he stroked its cheek. The blotched flesh was warm.

'Colic.' Arli bustled into the kitchen and scooped the infant from the cradle. She plucked a small jar from the shelf. He recognised it as grippe-water, a common remedy in his family's kitchen after Bode and Eldred arrived.

'He's a sickly one, is my Gariell.' The babe gurgled and wailed as she rubbed the stuff onto its gums.

Mat patted about his belt. In his haste he had left any decent coin in his tent. Arli blinked at the small bag he placed on the corner of the table. 'For medicine.'

He thought she would protest but, despite her thinned lips and puckered brow, she managed grudging thanks that served to make him feel all the more wretched. The woman had scraped her hair into a neat bun and the apron made her full hips prim in place of pleasing. In the cold light, he could almost believe he had dreamed their shadowed encounter.

Arli looked on as he rolled the map in oiled hide, jammed it in his belt and strode for the door.

'Follow the road to the square. The mount will change to foot-watch at the bell. Try to stay from the main streets and you should avoid them.'

Mat nodded and hesitated by the threshold. 'Thank you.'

'Tidings, Thom. Give the girl my regards.' The door slammed in his face.

He was back on the doorstep before the bolt had been latched. 'Arli.' He rapped, hard. 'How do you know—?'

The bell tolled.

Cursing, Mat fled into the maze of alleys, the map now clutched to his chest as though to protect him from the Whitecloaks themselves.

* * *

Sunrise was a sullen gash on the hills, but heat still pulsed from the ground in shivered waves. Mat let his horse loll a slow trot into the camp. Apart from a glimpsed guard, he met no one. Later, the peace would drown in a mess of bodies and ropes and all the organised chaos of moving on. But for now, the camp was quiet. It suited him fine. 

He ached for a bath. No time for that, even though grit clung to him from the raw breeze and the stink of lavender seemed melded to his skin. As soon as the sun clawed itself above the valley, he would be Farwell-bound and back in good time to haul camp. He hummed to himself at the thought of moving on, finding decent towns where common rooms bustled, girls always smiled and old, oak kegs brimmed with the finest red. Heartened by the thought, Mat slid from the saddle, tethered Pips and headed for his tent.

He stopped his tuneful hum when he heard it; a song, lightly sung, but raw with sorrow. Mat knew the voice well.

What was she doing, taking a bath at this hour? Guilt nipped at the thought. She probably hadn't slept, not while he had the foxhead looped about his own throat. He pushed blame from his mind. It was not as though he had _intended_ to stay away the whole night.

Still, he couldn't just leave her here. For all he knew, she might have whiled the night away worrying over his stupid hide. Wincing at the thought, Mat parted the canopy.

The bathing tent was aglow in the netherlight, its air warm and damp. The first batch of tubs were empty.

'Mai?'

Her soft, tired song ceased.

White sheets hung from taut lines. He pushed them aside, felt them cleave to him as he drifted past. One billowed in the morning breeze and he saw her.

The tub was full, the water still and clear. Pale arms hung over the sides while long fingers trailed the dark wood with slow caresses.

'Another visit, my Lord?'

Mat gaped at her. The dawn heat melted as a new fire took hold.

'Have you brought anyone this time? Not Menna, I hope.' Her voice throbbed to a whisper. 'I confess I don't look forward to her visits.'

Her hair was a dark mist. Tendrils snaked over her drenched shirt and slices of her silken flesh. Fire liquefied his middle and hardened to dread.

'Mai.' His voice cracked into a whisper. 'What's the matter?'

He knew the answer, knew it by the dark hollows scored beneath her eyes. Guilt sparked to anger. _Light, I am not your keeper._

Pale hands clutched the sides of the tub. Water cascaded from her hair as she raised herself, slithered down her skin. The shirt clasped her breasts, its pallor galvanised by the marble flesh beneath.

'Very convincing.' Her teeth glinted. 'Any other surprises, my love? Knives? A spear, perhaps?'

Her words were like blows to his stunned mind. _Love_?

Realisation cut through the fog.

'Mai, it's me.' He spread his palms. 'Just me. You're awake now.'

She laughed, a sound that brought ice to his blood.

Her lips and eyelids had a bluish cast to them. Beneath the water, her body shook.

'You're going to get sick. Come to me.'

'Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly,' Her eyes rolled, as if to search beyond the canvas skin. Something glittered in the water, sleek as a sliver pike. 'For I have a little something, here.'

Fear seized his gut. He stepped closer. A white arm darted into the tub, wrenched that silver into the light. It glinted in her grasp, sharp and eager.

He froze. 'Put the knife down.'

'I've been thinking. If you can hurt me, maybe I can hurt you.' She ticked the blade back and forth. 'Would you like to play a little game?'

He took another step. The knife stabbed higher, levelled with his heart.

'You're going to get hurt.'

'Oh, I think that's unavoidable.' Her lip trembled though the blade held firm. 'You're a gambling man, Mat. What are the odds that I will wake up from this dream?'

'I left you alone. I'm sorry.' Another step. A fourth. 'Mai, I'm sorry.'

Her arm tensed. The blade edged closer.

'Enough.' His roar startled her to drop the knife. It splashed into the tub as he lunged, pinned her slick arms against him. A stunning pain in his shoulder loosed his grip. Her hand flashed into the water and steel pricked his breastbone, drooled ice tears on his chest.

Full lips peeled from bloodied teeth. 'I am half sick of shadows.'

'_Seiera_.'

She blinked at that. The dagger trembled as he cupped her chin.

'_Mi'aan'Tai_, I won't hurt you.'

Tears jagged down her pale face. 'Mat.' Her voice trembled. 'Mat?'

The knife thudded to the ground as he pulled her against him. Her skin was cold and slick even as hot tears burned his stinging shoulder.

He heaved her from the chill water, fell back with her slight weight upon him and held her close, stroked her cheek, her hair, until sighs replaced her shivers.

She nestled into his arms. 'I bit you.'

'I had noticed.' A laugh forced from him as he rubbed her back. 'You know, this seems strangely familiar.'

That brought the image of her naked flesh, porcelain white in his embrace. He quashed the vision even as Mai leaned back to watch him with her wide, winter gaze. Strange how ice could make him feel so warm. His foot nudged something. The knife glittered by his boot. His knife.

'I found it in your tent.'

'Oh?'

'It was just lying there.' She muttered with some of her characteristic defence. 'And I was frightened. I thought…never mind.'

'What?' He pressed, pleased to see some colour in her cheeks at last.

'I thought I could fight the dreams in a different way.'

'That's a pretty rotten idea.'

'Be nice.'

She rested her head on his shoulder. He was glad of it; guilt rioted through him and he was sure she would see it in his eyes.

_Don't leave me alone._ Promise made, promise broken.

Fingers curled into his hair. Her breath was hot and shallow on his throat.

'Come on.' He lurched afoot and hauled her upright. 'You'll catch your death.'

The sun had paled the sky to a sickly mist. Mat squinted at the baleful orb as Mai stumbled beside him. He would have to find Per, ask him to watch the girl while he was gone.

After guiding her to a smouldering fire, Mat turned to investigate the cookpot. The porridge erred on the wrong side of edible.

'Perhaps we'd better wait for lunch.' He prodded at the fly-specked gloop. 'Listen, I have to go somewhere. Only for a while. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone.'

He felt a hand on his back, a cold caress on torn skin. A finger traced a bloody runnel in his flesh.

'They caught you?'

Mat closed his eyes.

_Yes, they caught you, chained you to a post and flogged your back raw. Say it. Say bloody anything._

He turned. 'No.'

For a moment, her blue eyes, wide and uncomprehending, locked with his. And then something flickered. Flickered and grew cold.

'I understand.' Her smile was small and bright and terrible. 'Would you like me to poultice them?'

'Mai, stop it.'

'Stop what?'

'It wasn't meant to happen.'

'Then I'm sorry I've forced you into any unwelcome situations.' She refused to look at him now. 'I'm sure it was deeply unpleasant for you.'

'No, it was bloody wonderful.' He spat. 'Light, you have no idea, do you? Always too busy moping, expecting everyone to jump every time you squeak.'

'I never asked for your help.'

'Because you don't want help. You want a lapdog. Well go find Cal. I'm sure he'll be only too happy to oblige.'

'You're wrong.'

Hurt pulsed from her. A snarl burned his throat. 'And here come the tears. Wonderful. Why not try wailing about some stupid, bloody dreams while you're at it?' He pressed closer, hating the sheen in her eyes. 'Here's a better idea. Find someone who isn't sick of your bloody whining.'

Her hand lifted, faltered.

'What's wrong? You can bite me but not hit me? That's fits your twisted logic just right, doesn't it, Mai.'

A tear slid down her ashen cheek. He welcomed the ache in his gut, let it feed his malice.

'Who was the mystery visitor this time anyway? A little girl? No, that would be far too easy. One of the Forsaken? No, wait, the bloody Dark One himself, right?'

'You.' Her eyes fixed him, colourless. Empty. 'It was you.'

The whisper was crueler than any blow. His fire dulled to ashes, Mat watched her flee.

* * *

(**A/N** (pt.2) - Feels odd to be doing this at the end of a chapter but I don't want to make cross by having a sprawling author note at the start. Huge thanks to Lolli and VercisIsolde for the reviews. They made me so gleeful that I even altered the trusty A/N section in your honour:- 

****

**Lolli** – Gosh. When I saw your first batch or reviews, I admit to being doubtful that you'd continue to critique the entire fic. And yet, lo and wonderment, you have. I am privileged and amazed. And such insightful reviews too. Just a sample of my many (glowing) thoughts:

_Adjectives, Adverbs and PoV_ - My love of those dreaded 'ad' words verged on obsession for a while. In fact, I cringe when I read anything prior to chapter sixteen. And I never before realised how many times I switched PoV during scenarios **:( ******Your advice would have been very handy back in 2002. Where were you, gosh-darnit? [sulks]

_Birds and Bees (and Plants)_ – There does seem to be a lot of birds, bugs and flora in this fic. Abundant greenery exists in Iolo-land, so I suppose plant and bird names have filtered through my consciousness. I've never really thought about it, to be honest. I'm glad you feel it adds to the piece, though.

_Porridge and Rabbits_ – mmm, porridge. Especially good with a dollop of jam. I never got that 'odd' rabbit scene either. It actually started as a dream and, like any hopelessly amorous writer, I was inspired to set it to paper. Regrettably, Mary Shelley I ain't, so now I wish I'd left that bunny bit in the land of nod. Still, there is some character development in there. Somewhere.

_Humour_ – Always hit and miss and always a complete bugger to write. I hope the humour adds a dash of rapport and airiness to the fic., sort of a way of compensating for wading through all these chapters. I'm very glad I managed to raise a few smiles and possibly even a chuckle. I loved your emotive feedback on this!

_Nightmares and Dreamscrapes_ – Very, very pleased you liked the description of Mai's nocturnal visitor. I'm an avid horror fan so I'm chuffed I could scribble a little homage to the genre.

_Cal the Changeling_ – A result of poor plotting and lack of insight, I'm afraid. In the first few chapters, I flitted from chapter to chapter in a 'Hmm, and then that could happen, and then that, and then what happened was…' fashion, which really isn't conducive to a taut, linear plot. Cal is a by-product of this, so apologies for his mercurial nature. Still, he is a touch bonkers, so I'll use that as a feeble excuse also.

_Mai v.2 – _Nope, I didn't find the prospect of a made-over Mai appealing either. But then I didn't plan on a bunch of Tinkers storming the camp either. Ever have a story run off with you? Most irksome. Plus, Cal transpired to be most enamoured by Mai's new (and unimproved) look, whereas Mat was less keen. Ever have characters develop minds of their own mid-scene? Even more irksome.

_And Then What Happened Was….-_ I've got an ending in sight, although the path has been, ahem, a trifle convoluted, and I really, really hope you continue to review. Your critique has been very constructive and valuable and I've thoroughly enjoyed your feedback. That's what I'm writing this thing for after all **: )** What does bother me is not finding a WoT fic. in your repertoire. I love reviewing as well as writing, so let rip with the Jordan fics! And thank you for commenting that my writing has improved. That's the biggest compliment of all [grin].

**VercisIsolde** – Hope you had a good trip. Thanks for the astute and wonderfully in-depth review. Here are a few rejoinders:

_Saucy Antics_ - Did anything happen between our alliterative protagonists? Well, they spent the night together but that's about as far as it went. Mat's never been one for simply sleeping with women (in the literal sense) so I suspect this restraint would be odd and perhaps a tad revelatory for him. Hopefully more significant than a quick fumble in a tent anyway **;**** )**

_Bearded Banter_ - Ferrell was indeed the one who stopped the bitchy confab. He is a decent sort, isn't he? Haven't seen the last of him yet, btw.

_Undecipherable Pap_ - Yup, I pillaged the OT dictionaries for any phrases I could pinch. I like your idea of individual interpretation so feel free to translate the words any way you wish, although I am very curious as to your construal….

_Mice and Men_ - Ah, Perrin. He's such a good boy. I felt I should pepper the fic. with a few Rand/Perrin refs. and I'm glad you think I managed to capture a little of the trusty blacksmith's nature.

_Tinker Tomfoolery_ - The section with Thea was going to be cut, but I decided to leave it in last minute. Basically, Thea realised she behaved appallingly towards our heroine and wanted to make amends. Thea is silly and selfish and shallow, but she isn't _bad_. I don't want anyone in this fic. to be bad or good, just flawed and human.

_Baby Blues_ - Leilan's child – he is certainly alive and I have some plans for this special chap. I hope to write a possible post-T/G fic. about Vyren (yep, that's his name). Chapter one should be up by 2009 :D.

_Quips and Asides_ - There are numerous accidents in this fic., but Mat's 'memory' line wasn't one of them. He can be an ironic sod at times so I thought the retort fitted him well.

_Fistcuffs_ - I enjoyed writing that fight scene – it was the section that came easiest to me. I'm very glad you enjoyed the tiff. I was smiling the whole time I wrote it. **: )**

_Nalesean_ (R.I.P.) – I believe this was the second instance I referred to the poor man having a 'sore throat'. Pretty sick, I know, but I'm like that sometimes.

_Scar-fetish_ – Hmm. Not sure about the answer to this one. Possibly the tantalising combination of youth and mischief juxtaposed with such haggard, world-weary battle scars? Mai certainly seems to be a sucker for them.

_That Delaine Fellow_ - Cal was a result of a panicked eep!-I-need-a-secondary-character-now moment. This blond bloke popped into my head, lurked around a few chapters and started muscling in on my story. Pretty soon, I knew all about his weakness for blue eyes, his arranged initiation with a courtesan at the age of fifteen, that his favourite colour is green (leaf, not turquoise) and lots of grisly details from his chequered (and sticky) past. Medication might help curtail these visitations from fictional people, but I've grown sort of fond of them.

_Pink Ribbons_ – Wait, that's the next chapter….only jesting **;**** )**

_Ideas for more WoT fics_. - Tricky. Post Tarmon Gaidon might be a thought, or pre-EotW (tried my hand at a Two Rivers piece a few months back – straight to the recycle bin). Apart from that, and a series of random vignettes, I'm at a complete loss also. But you must write more soon. It was a joy to read your fic., although I do wish it had been longer [grump]. Really, really hope to see more from you. Take care, cariad, and thank you for the cracking review.

Well fellas, thanks again. Sorry about the gloominess (angst, altercations, misery, etc.), but it was a necessary evil. And I swear to write shorter author notes in futures. Please let me know what you think and look forward to seeing you in chapter twenty [crosses fingers and beams a cheesy-grin].


	21. Chapter Twenty

(**A/N** – Here we go again. The following chapter is a touch shorter than usual – depending on your attention span, this could be a good or a bad thing. Apologies if it's the latter. 

**Lolli** – Gosh. Sounds like you were having a nightmare of a day when you reviewed. Hope things are better now. Yes, Mat's outburst was a bit unexpected but I've always considered him the mercurial type so I was hoping his behavior wasn't too OOC. Thanks for reviewing and I'm glad the chapter served to cheer you a tiny bit, despite the ill-timing of the subject :( May your dreams be not trippy and I wish you a veritable bounty of decent nights' sleep [beam]

**Trickster's-Lulaby** – Hullo there. Thank you for your lovely comments and commendation. I've now managed two updates in one month, which is almost unheard of – all those pleases prove that manners always pay off in the long run, eh?

**Virago** – There you are! Thought I'd lost you so I was thrilled to see your review. Glad the chapter was worth the wait and thanks for the feedback [is happy].

**VercisIsolde** – Wow. Thank you for the fantastic review – you've more than made up for any tardiness [grin]. Glad you enjoyed it. Actually, I'm not sure if Mat uses his Grinwell persona more than once. It might have been just that one scene with Morgase in tDR. I shall have to investigate. Arli – a dichotomous creature indeed and we haven't seen the last of her yet. Strangely, I never connected the dream sequence with Melindhra's fate before. Thanks for pointing that out. Yup, Mai is a little creepy when she thinks she's dreaming – I guess she feels she has nothing to lose in those situations. You're spot on about the reason behind Mai's current mental state. She's not the most stable of individuals and betrayal has destroyed whatever tenuous hope she had. Plus, despite Tillalia's warning, she has developed a deep attachment to her savior/tormentor ('though she was originally intended to covet Cal's affections), and that is a very dangerous thing for a tragic heroine. For Mat's part, he's frustrated, guilt-ridden, harassed and generally p'ssed-off enough to lash out at the creature behind all his current troubles. And as for them reaching an amicable resolution….well, there are going to be a few complications first. Thanks again for the glorious review – you certainly have an insightful technique. Actually, it's a bit scary you picked up things I hadn't even noticed I put in. Hope this installment's not too pear-shaped. :P Enjoy.

All right, so around four chapters ago I reckoned there were only four chapters to go. In hindsight, that was a rubbish estimate. But hold on, my brethren; the end is very much nigh….)

**Disclaimer **- meh.

**Chapter Twenty**

The river was pale and still, a snake of mellow green. Her toes hovered amongst the damselflies and shimmering webs as she sat in her hollow beneath the willow tree.

Reeds and sleek branches trailed to the water and clasped about her ankles, playthings all of the river's furtive currents. She hummed softly and cast a handful of buds into the water. Fennell. A herb for melancholy and black bile and any ague of calamity.

She watched the buds swirl amongst daisies and columbines before looking to her hip. A wasp was idling over her spring votives, its drone quieting as it lulled on a leaf or curved petal.

The creature darted wide as she lifted a spray of pink blossom. Rosemary; a gift for remembrance. Her lips curled as she flung it to the breeze.

The next bloom was berry-bright, the red, red betrayal of torn flesh. She stroked a soft petal and smiled.

_'Remember this well.'_ _Nath's grip was a vice as he rammed her hands into the basin. _'_I just saved your miserable life.'_

She had howled when her skin cracked and bled in the scalding water. As crimson heartsbane spilled from her apron to scatter 'cross the floor, Nath had made her swear never to pluck the poisons again.

Ruby petals brushed her lips. The velvet hearts smelled sweet. They would taste sweeter.

The wasp had returned to dither on her quiet prizes, its wings a colourless rainbow. Her head titled as she closed a hand around the little creature.

_'Now I have thee…'_

It shivered in her trap, hum pitched almost to a snarl.

_'And I love thee…'_

She felt it nudge her caged fingers then a clean spike of pain.

_'And I shall never let thee go…'_

Her hand sprang open and the creature danced free. Like some winged spark in her drab nest, it zagged over roots and silver leaves and into the clasp of a waiting web. As the spider hooked it into a writhing embrace, Mai closed her eyes and caressed the heartsbane in her throbbing hand. She soon lost herself in the sounds of the hollow; the stir of the river, the purr of a gadfly, the flip of a fish nipping at skaters and whirligigs.

And then footsteps. She knew the rhythm of that gait as it crunched over loam.

'I wanted to say goodbye.'

She opened her eyes. Leaves dappled his face in shadow. He was so handsome, his eyes large and earnest, his mouth a supple bow that never crooked into some mocking half-smile that was not a smile at all.

She ached to her marrow.

What was to gain in hurt?

_'They promised they could help a fever,'_ _she whispered as Nath smoothed the salve on her palms._ '_That you would be pleased I picked them_.'

'_Then you are a little fool._' _Nath's smile took the sting from his words even as the balm numbed her seared flesh._ '_To_ t_rust is to court your own defeat. Remember that.'_

'Yes.'

His gaze narrowed. Splashes of sunlight made quick sapphires of those eyes.

'You asked me a question not so long ago.' She tossed the crimson flower into the stream. Its colour greyed and sank beneath the murk. 'The answer is yes.'

Cal caught her hand and raised it, slowly, as though fearing it would change her offer somehow. She shivered as he kissed her wrist.

'Then it's time to be gone.'

* * *

Mat winced and forced himself to straighten in the saddle. His ribs ached like a cracked tooth and sweat was making fire of the deep scratches on his back. As if he needed reminding of those little injuries.

The road was dry and narrow with crooked trees looming into their path and carving the sky to azure slices. At least the branches gave some shade against the blistering sky. A magpie chittered in the canopy, startling his horse into a canter even though it was barely loud enough to be heard over the rumpus at his side. Mat yanked the reins and shot his companion a withering look. After failing to coax Mat into conversation, Ferrell had sought solace in his own deep baritone.

His last effort has been a lively song about a goatherd and a merry spinster. Mat remembered the tune with a different name and very different words. He had winced often as Ferrell rumbled through the bawdy verses, each one lewder then the last. Light, the man had a mind like a cesspool.

At least the latest ballad wasn't raw enough to made a bilge-tote blanch. For Ferrell's standards, it was positively chaste.

_The time I lost in wooing,_

_In watching and pursuing,_

_The light that lies in womans eyes,_

_Has been my heart's undoing._

Mat's fingers had strayed to his shoulder now, probing the bite that was adding its tune to his complement of sore spots. He clamped his fingers on the reigns. Now was not the time to think about _that_.

_'Tho Wisdom oft has sought me,_

_I scorned the lore she brought me,_

_My only books were women's looks,_

_And folly's all they've taught me._

As though sensing his glower, his grey gelding shook its mane and broke into a nervous trot. A long, lean hotblood, the thing was princely enough for the sprint-track, but no amount of long-legged grace could match Pips' deep withers and powerful flanks. Another thorn in his craw. Pips was languishing at the camp, his blunt snout buried in hay after the rigours of Laybridge.

_And are those follies going?_

_And is my proud heart growing_

_Too cold or wise for brilliant eyes_

_Again to set it glowing?_

But it was not the niggling pain, the showy steed or even Ferrell's bloody singing that had him such foul humour.

That morning, as he ploughed through the ranks of men lagging wagons, hauling tents and chattering with eagerness to be finally on their way, Cal had sought him out. Mat had flinched when the man flipped a coin but instinct had him snatching the gold before it could hit the dust. The morning light cast a cool tint to Cal's face as he gestured at the coin in Mat's palm.

'We had a wager, once. Remember?'

Mat had stared at the man, his eyes taking in the blanket roll on his back, his laden belt, the air of poised urbanity and found that he did.

_The inn had been typical Lugard; hot, smoky and ripe with sweat, soaked leather and spilled wine. They had only rounded a handful of recruits that day, a group that defied their numbers by sinking enough ale for twice as many more. One of them, a young blonde fellow with a smile that had the barmaids fluttering their lashes, was quietly shunning the revelry. He refused to dice or wager, sipped nought but the finest wine, declined the offer of a seared needle and ink and all with the most courteous of smiles. Maybe it was because this novice hadn't seen enough of the world to wipe the boyish gleam from his face. Perhaps it was because the serving maids were flashing their ankles for no one but the butter-blonde newcomer. Or it could have been the belly-full of wine that made Mat stagger to sling an arm around the fellow's shoulder and exclaim; 'A wager. A gold-mark that our newest friend will bow out before Maerone.'_

_Cal had sealed the bargain with his small, assured smile. 'Done.'_

In the pale, morning glow, Cal looked no different from that wet night in Lugard. And yet something was different. Different beyond repair.

He smiled as Mat struggled for a retort. 'Congratulations.'

'Where will you go?'

Cal never answered, just turned and walked on with his hands hooked into his belt.

Before he could follow, Ferrell had popped up with a cheery; 'Trouble, lad? You've got a face like a wet Bel Tine.'

Mumbled assurances hadn't worked, nor had his admission that he had to go somewhere, somewhere terribly ordinary with not the slightest possibility of adventure. Oh no. None at all.

'I'll come along. I'm useless with knots anyway,' Ferrell had boomed, waggling his considerable fingers in Mat's face.

_No - vain, alas! th'endeavour_

_From bonds so sweet to sever;_

_Poor wisdom's chance against a glance_

_Is now as weak as ever_

He caught himself whistling Ferrell's tune – Dabbling in the Dew they had called it in the Two Rivers – as he rolled the gold over his hand. Mat bit off the whistle with a scowl and jammed the coin into his belt.

'Once knew a Saldean lass who liked to frolic in lavender,' Ferrell suddenly announced. The man towered above him on the huge Dhurran. While Mat's horse clipped and flounced over the trail, Ferrell's steed lumbered, its huge hooves rolling a ponderous gait.

'She had a weakness for purple fields and the company of young men,' he went on, ignoring Mat's glower. 'She was quite good at combining the two. '

'Is this story going anywhere?'

'Not really. It was fun, though.'

Mat grunted and willed the man to shut up. No such luck.

'Did you know you smell like a garden?'

Ferrell blinked when Mat shot him savage glare.

'No, Mai doesn't wear lavender, yes, I was away from the camp last night and why that is anyone else's business is a bloody mystery.' His deep breath tugged a twinge from his ribs. 'Can't that thing go any faster?'

'He's made for battle, not jaunts. Set him a juicy tussle and you'll soon see him shift. Isn't that so, my good lad?'

As if on cue, the black Dhurran vented a wounded bellow.

Ferrell patted the beast's corded neck. 'Pay no heed, Dob. Someone just got out of the wrong bed this morning.'

'I did _not_ get out of the wrong bed.'

'My mistake. Sorry.'

'How many leagues?'

'To Farwell?'

'No, to bloody Aridhol.'

'Arid-wha—?'

'Never mind.'

Ferrell shook open the map. 'Two at most.'

'Then ride.'

He cracked the reigns and the beast clawed into a gallop, its neck arched and teeth bared as though to tear at the very wind. Mat dimly heard Ferrell bellow his name and urged the creature on, locked his knees to the steed's ribs as the forest melted into a blur of green and brown and spikes of startling yellow. Oiled hooves seemed to hardly touch the ground, flowed over knots and roots like sunlight on water. Light, with this wild creature he could ride, just ride beyond the next rise, and the next and the one after that until his name was dust and there was no way back.

He was grinning as his fingers slipped from his reigns, laughing when he raised his arms so the wind rushed through his fingers, sang in his ears.

The horse screamed as it stumbled.

Mat flung his arms around the beast's neck. Clods of muck flew from scrabbling hooves as the creature skidded, buckled almost to its rump. Mat was wheezing almost as hard as the horse when they slid to a sharp halt. His legs throbbed and gave way to trembling as he thumped to the ground. The dirt felt too yielding beneath his boots. It was also slick as a greased griddle.

With a bitter oath, he tucked the steeds muzzle under his arm and blinked in the brash light. The forest had emptied into a valley caged with chiselled hills. Brooding and spire-steep, they stood like solemn sentries. All but one. As his eyes lingered on the mount that sloped and blurred into a wide, black slick, Mat realised that they were not hills at all.

'Light, lad.' Ferrell roared as the Dhurran lumbered from the trees. 'Didn't you hear me?'

'No,' he lied. 'We're here.'

The man threw him a disgusted look as he swung from the saddle. 'Then where's the flaming town?'

'Right beneath us.'

'Light,' Ferrell turned his gaze to sloped hill and then the black dirt under his boots. 'Bloody Light.'

Mat patted the grey gelding and lifted the _ashandarei_from his saddlebow. It felt an age since he had last used the thing. The feeling hovered somewhere between relief and dismay.

'Good idea.' Ferrell turned to his own steed. 'Feels like my skin's kissing my bones goodbye.'

Mat shivered again as the man unclipped the weapon from his saddle. The axe glinted liked a wicked grin, all sharp teeth and spite.

'That's revolting.'

Ferrell hefted the brutal axe with obvious pride. 'When you're a big boy, maybe you can trade that toothpick for one.'

'Why are you here again?'

'Be nice.'

'If one more person tells me that—' He scowled as Ferrell strutted off, axe swinging in a huge fist.

The black earth was like a frozen tide, a surf of midnight capped with scuds of sickly green. Blasted trees, buried in slow, sinking death, clawed for the light just beyond their reach.

'Looks like we're not the only visitors.'

Mat had noticed the same; prints from foot and hoof had churned whole plots of earth into a choppy sea.

'Why would anyone want to come here?'

'Looting?'

'What's here to steal?' Mat muttered, scanning the smothered valley. 'Besides, there's no sign of digging.'

'Well, I'll be burned if there's gain in staying here any longer.' Ferrell swung the axe to his shoulder. 'Seen enough?'

Something glittered in the scraggy copse on a shallow tor. A heartbeat later, it was gone. 'Not quite.'

Ignoring Ferrell's complaints, Mat trotted towards the small hill.

Whatever had thrown that glint had vanished by the time they crested the rise. Ferrell tugged irritably at his shirt, tearing the lacing until tufts of fiery hair poked through.

Mat peered into the thicket, a tangle of elms and evergreens and scrubby clumps of fern. 'I think I see something.'

'Thought you might say that.' Ferrell blew a resigned sigh and a half-step forward.

In the trees, something growled, a low, glottal sound.

Mat stayed Ferrell with the spear haft. 'Listen.'

'Hog. Bear, maybe.' The big fellow shrugged and pushed the spear aside. 'We looking or are you going to stand here trembling all day?'

Mat hesitated before following the man into the leafy gloom. That sound had been like no boar or bear he had ever heard.

Ferrell was characteristically undaunted. Shoulders heaving as he hewed at the branches with that fierce axe, the hulking man carved a trail to what looked to be an abandoned cottage.

The cabin was small and might once have been a cosy snug. Now it was in ruin, the bitter relic of a dead town.

'Pretty.' Ferrell observed. 'Think there'll be a bowl of mead and oats waiting for us inside?'

'I think you've heard too many stories.' He edged closer to the ramshackle cottage. '_Hullo_.'

A spray of birds beat into the air like a thunderclap.

Mat lowered his cupped hands and gaped at the creatures winging into the distance. 'Ravens. I'll be burned, ravens the bloody lot of them.'

Wishing he had brought a bow or even a trusty sling, Mat approached the rusted gate with more gumption than he felt. A mere nudge of his boot sent the thing clattering to the path. Ears ringing, Mat turned a tight grin on his companion. 'Time for a little gardening.'

He pushed into the undergrowth, cursing each time a vine snagged his shirt or flesh. Ferrell's approach was somewhat more direct. Mat ducked as a spiked bramble whicked past his head.

'Must you?'

Ferrell lowered his sap-slicked axe reluctantly. 'But it's more fun this way.'

The door that loomed before them was cracked, weathered and daubed with something that made ice of his flesh.

'Burn me, lad. Do you look for trouble, or does it come courting you?'

Mat grimaced. The Dragon Fang was a stark blight on the rotting wood.

His fierce kick slammed the door wide. A rank, dusty smell sighed at them, cellar-dark and cold as a dying breath.

Ferrell ducked under the sagging frame. 'Cosy.' The man's second stride had him ankle deep in splinters.

'Mind your step, there.'

'What's that stink?' Ferrell grunted as he staggered from the rotted board.

Mat shrugged and looked at the hearth. There was nothing but ashes in that grate, but the sting of smoke and something else, a hot, musky odour, lingered in the gloom.

He trod carefully to the table. A sunken candle squatted between two plates. Two knives and forks sat neatly on those grimed plates, as though the diners had been disturbed during a quiet supper. He almost jumped when a low croak sounded to his right. Mat turned, his hackles rising. A black shape hunkered in the shadows.

Mat took a swing at the raven crouched on a chair, but the thing made no move to flee. It hissed, wings arched wide and beak snapping from its tiny, pointed tongue.

The creature looked almost startled when the knife sheared through its breast, pinning it to the wall in a shower of stone. Mat wrenched the still-thrumming knife from the dead bird. 'I don't like being watched.' The thing lolled to the boards with a satisfying thud.

'A woman lived here.'

'What makes you say that?'

Ferrell used the axe to lift a ragged tail of curtain. 'Useless at keeping out draughts. Uselessness means women's work.'

'Best not let Mai hear you say that.'

'She's no woman yet.' Ferrell let the curtain drop and moved to thump open a small door. 'Give the lass time, though. She'll be stringing frills all over camp before you know it. Do you think this is good for eating?' he muttered, ducking from the hatch with a jar in his hand.

'What is it?'

Ferrell shrugged. 'It's got a little bee on the lid.'

'Can honey go bad?'

'How can you tell it's honey?'

Mat sighed and scraped his blade on the table-edge. 'Let's just keep looking.'

They crept through a curved alcove where the gloom lurked thick. It was only a small relief when Ferrell split the shutters with a swing of his axe. Light speared into the room, forcing the shadows to huddle in sullen corners.

The dim crackle of a dying wasp accompanied their trawl about the room. For once, Ferrell seemed to have lost his tongue. Mat felt the same. There was sorrow here, an air of misery so deep the place seemed to ache with it. Thick bundles of herbs swung from heavy beams but the only smell was that strange, charred stink.

Ferrell paused by the formidable hearth, his hand worrying his beard. 'What do you suppose this is?'

Mat craned a look. Pressed into the stone, as neatly as a light step might mark ashes, was a paw print. The bitter smell flared a quick, sickening connection - sulphur. A small, cold voice gauged the print of a similar breadth to a Dhurran's hoof. He wrestled a hot spurt of nausea and brushed a hand over the scarred stone. It was cool to his touch. 'Whatever made it is long gone.' All the same, he darted a quick glance about the room. 'Keep looking.'

Mat left Ferrell still pondering over the print and ducked into another room. It was darker here, the burnt smell fainter.

He pulled a calming breath and caught a faded scent of flowers. Golden light poured through the shutters he gently creaked ajar. Save for the narrow bed hugging the far wall and a large, carved chest, the room was empty.

He crouched before the chest and swept dust from its domed lid. It opened with a throaty creak and he breathed in its sigh of almond and cedar and old, forgotten secrets. He found a creamy-white feather nestled atop the strange contents. It was startling, familiar and he knew at once that it had belonged to the throat of an eagle owl. A rare treasure indeed. A rock, worn smooth by some sandy brook, fitted neatly in his palm. He clasped a scrap of velvet, deep and rich as burgundy wine, and found it still held the scent of violets.

A sprig of forget-me nots peered from the pages of a speckled book. His tentative touch crisped the petals to dust. Wrapped about the stem was a coil of black and brown hair, interwoven and twisted into a small circle. He placed the strange relics by his knees and looked again to the chest.

Cocooned inside a wrap of raw silk was a doll. Large, glass eyes of the brightest blue gazed at him beneath a wealth of dark curls as he traced painted lashes, a porcelain cheek, the bow of her pink lips. Resting atop her froth of pale blue skirts were two crumples of parchment. He palmed them smooth and joined the ragged edges. It was torn sketch of the doll's owner, her face youthful and bearing a smile of such sweetness that he almost flinched. He had never made her smile in that way.

A childish scrawl was scratched beneath; _Now I have thee, and I love thee, and I shall never let thee go._

He fought a sudden urge to tear those words from the paper, rip the ancient verse into ruin.

But those large eyes stayed his hand, so faithful he could almost see himself reflected in their depths.

'I'm sorry.'

And he was. For this dead home, this tiny room, for the girl she had once been. For the sorrow in her eyes before she had fled from him. For then and now and everything in between.

'Found what you were looking for?'

Mat folded the pieces and slid them under his belt. 'I don't know.' He muttered, rubbing the dust from his eyes.

'Why, Mat. I didn't know you cared.' Ferrell bent to pluck something from the floor. 'Loversknot,' he declared, spinning the twisted circle on his smallest finger. 'A lock from two heads, twined to make a finger-posy.'

'Very sweet.'

'Isn't it? Got quite a collection of them myself.'

Mat snatched the knot and tossed it into the chest. 'There's nothing here.'

'You all right, lad?'

'Bloody wonderful.' He stood and slapped the dust from his knees. 'Let's go.'

'Light, it's the image of her.' The doll was clasped in the man's broad palm. 'Is it Mai's?'

Mat forced his shoulders to relax. 'How should I know?'

'Well, I think she should have it. She needs some cheer of late.'

Mat barely heard the man's veiled accusation. He strode the window to palm grime from a cracked pane. Something small and pale nestled in a claw of branches.

'Where are you going now? Mat?_ Mat_.'

By the time Ferrell yelled his name a third time, Mat was already outside in the tangle of thicket. He hacked at the gnarled green, ignored the slice of thorns. The old rowan was broad and twisted, smothered in yellowed ivy.

It could have been a vine, nothing more than a loop of branch locked in a tangle of thorns and red, puckered berries.

Light, how he wished that were so.

Mat tore his gaze from the noose. Dismay tightened his throat as he reached into the knotted green, grasped a swathe of stiff cloth. It slid from where the leaves had harboured it; the white had faded to grey but the sunburst was still a brash flame. He hurled the flag to the ground.

Ferrell was blundering from the undergrowth as Mat ran for the horses.

'Get back to the camp,' he yelled, vaulting onto the dapple gelding. 'And tell them to be ready.'

* * *

She held a breath as the fish swam closer. The play of leaves on the water had made the creature wary, but her stillness beguiled it.

Mai lay on her belly, her cheek resting on her free arm, waiting for Cal's return. She knew he should be back by now, but couldn't rouse herself to pay the thought much mind. The sunlight cast a net of shining pearls over the water, forcing her to eyes to close against that golden assault. These drowses weakened her, made the world tilt closer to the veil. He was here again, unreachable across the dark water. At times, he seemed to be beckoning her; at others, walking away.

Now he was calling her, his face lost in the shadow of his hat as he cried silent words. She moaned and opened her eyes.

The fish was closer. She tilted her hand, stroked the trout's slick belly. The creature paused, as though suspended, its fins willowing at her touch.

A shadow fell over her. The fish snapped through the water as she looked up at Cal. The sun hazed a corona about his corn-gold curls and she smiled.

'Don't fight, Mai-'

The blow rang loud in the silence. Cal staggered as a swarthy stranger planted a stance before her.

'No warnings, Delloraine.' He sneered, his black eyes slitted as he yanked her afoot.

Cal wiped a bloody smear from his lip as the dark man reached to yank her afoot. 'This is _her_?'

'Yes, Lieutenant.'

Fingers clutched her face, wrenched her gaze from Cal. 'I was expecting something impressive.' His voice was oily with scorn.

She shrank back as his leer ducked closer. His breath stank of cloves and spoiled meat.

'Do you know what day it is, you little slut?'

'Some decorum if you will, Lieutenant.'

The numbing grip tightened then released as an armoured man strode to the bank. His face was open and almost kindly. Grey hair swept from his high brow in neat waves. He was not alone. Several others accompanied him, all sporting armour and white, billowing cloaks.

The kindly man stopped before her. 'Salutations, Malori. It's been a long while.'

Cal made a clipped bow. 'She calls herself Mai, Commander.'

'I see. Child Delloraine tells me that you have no recollection of your youth, Mai. I understand this to mean you have no remembrance of me. Is this correct?'

'Cal.' She struggled as strong hands seized her from behind. 'What is this?'

'Answer the Commander, bitch.' Hot, reeking breath seared her ear. 'Or I will rip your skinny arm from its socket.'

'There will be plenty of time for dramatics later, Lieutenant.' The older man gave her captor a stern look then turned a softer gaze upon her. 'It's been six years since I last saw you. Six years to this very day.' He murmured, shaking his head in a wondering fashion. 'Do you sense the fortuity in that, Malori?'

'My name is not Malori.'

'Ah, yes. Mai. Your name is not the only thing that's changed child.' His eyes flickered over her before resting on her face. 'But not your eyes.' A chuckle rumbled beneath the polished breastplate. 'Yes, I would remember those eyes anywhere. My name is Commander Thrayne.' He paused, as though waiting for her to recognise the name. 'No matter, Mai. I'm afraid I must request your company in town.'

'I'm not going back there.' She yelped as her arms were wrenched higher.

'Oh, it will be quite a short stay, I assure you.'

'_No_.'

Her kick connected hard and she felt a hot, vicious joy at the startled grunt behind her. Then her head wrenched back until her muscles shrieked. Something cold kissed her throat.

'Irial, please. We are not savages.'

It took a few moments for the dagger to leave her throat. Her captor released her braid with a snarl.

'My apologies, Mai. We shall try and make this as civil as possible. Child Delloraine, if you would be so kind.'

'Cal, stop this.'

His eyes stared past her as he unstoppered a small bottle. The scent of hemlock stang the air.

'Cal. _Please_.'

His steady hand upended the bottle onto a cloth.

She kicked at her captor, fought and writhed until Cal gripped her jaw. The sick-sweet smell was choking. She screamed as the white cloth pressed over her nose, her mouth.

'Best not to struggle, Malori. This won't take long.'

A low laugh chased her into darkness.


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**(A/N – **This one took a little while, eh? Better late than never. Possibly.

**Jasmina** – Thank you once again for the review. I'm very pleased you found it exciting and sorry for dawdling in getting this chapter posted.

**Trickster's Lulaby** – Glad you found chapter twenty unexpected - these scenarios feel like they've been curdling in the doldrums of my mind, so that little comment heartened me greatly. Thanks for letting me know ::salutes right back at'cha::

**VercisIsolde** – Wordy responses are wonderful and I don't mind waiting for your reviews – they're very much worth it. Mai's riverside 'Ophelia' moment was horribly indulgent of me but I couldn't resist – most relieved the description didn't grate. Cal did indeed steal Mat's CoT riff. It's quite a noble line and far more portentous than something along the lines of 'get your coat, love'. Glad you picked up on it (and the mega-WoT boffin award goes to….VI ::applauds::) Ferrell's bagged a fan ::grin::. If you do get a hankering for the big, beardy gruffster, don't forget he's single….

Song? Seems I….er….forgot to....er....credit.....::coughthesongain'tminecough::. 'The Time I Lost in Wooing' belongs to an 18th century chap called Thomas something. Sorry 'bout that, Tom. Much respect.

Mat's mini-flashback motives are very similar to those in tDR Galad/Gawyn bashing scene. Seems my subconscious goes into overdrive when I write this thing.

Farwell. Sulphurous stenchs, feisty ravens, ominous snarls. Sounds a bit like my home town :P What do these signs mean? Oh, wait; I've always wanted to do this…..RAFO ::a grinning Iolo dips into delusions of Jordan-dom::.

All the objects in the chest are Mai's, as is half the hair in the loversknot. The other lock belonged to someone you met several chapters ago, 'though he wasn't feeling himself at the time….oh, and Menna did have a doppelganger doll. Crikey - do you have a photographic memory or something? The reason for Mat's hasty farewell to Farwell should become clearer in this chapter. If it doesn't, please let me know. I'm getting a little foggy myself. Delloraine's a horrible name; all cumbersome and posh-sounding. I prefer Delaine too. Yup, a little of Bornhald elder lives on in Thrayne. Nice detective work, SherlockIsolde ;). I like the idea that not all W/C's have to be raving zealots – some might be sort of decent….which actually makes them scarier when they do something nasty. I think.

I'm so glad you're still enjoying the fic. and sorry about the cliffhangers. There should be less of them in the next chapter/s. Hope this instalment's okay. Thank you for the incredible review, though I am a little worried; I'm starting to think you know more about this fic. than I do :)

**Virago** – ::bestows blessing:: I forgive you, my child. I see Cal now bears the burden of your righteous wrath. Be afraid, oh blonde betrayer. Be very afraid.

**Durvasha** – As I have no proof of your perversity, I believe I shall take your feedback as a compliment – hence, thank you for your comments. Woo, Cal's getting a bit of a bashing. Despite my protective instincts, I admit he has fluctuated throughout the fic. I'll try and level things out a little. Oh, I liked that rhetorical question – I would never dream of criticizing your opinion. Is your review disjointed? It seemed fine to me. Thanks for letting me know your reactions and I promise to finish the fic. Scouts honour, dib, dib, dib. Thanks again!

**CassSpaz** – I like the word 'wow' so I'm going to return the favour. Wow. I made you laugh? And smile? ::is happy:: Nath is a jerk. Or _is_ he…? RAFO (….I swear I'll never tire of that) As for Mat getting beaten up…muses…I think the trickster needs a slap every now and then, just to keep him on his toes. Thanks for reviewing. I loved reading your reactions.

****

To all the above – you're a quality bunch. Sorry about any glitches and quirks in the formatting. Well, you know ::jerks thumb at guilty looking FF:: What you are about to read is long and a bit confusing – ill-timing indeed since it's the crux of my little tale. Well, I never claimed to be any _good_ at this writing lark. _Dovienya_, comrades. See you in the finale.

**Disclaimer** - I am not Robert Jordan, I am not Robert Jordan, I am not Robert Jordan. I am Oliver Rigby Junio….darn it.

****

**Chapter Twenty-One**

They were staring at her again. She tugged her sodden shawl tighter and pretended it was the rain that ducked her shoulders. She hated it, this parade of silence, yet every week she trudged through the ritual, as though she were the due heir of their stares and whispers. The rain fell in silver slices, pecking her cheeks with cold kisses as she crossed the street. She saw that Cillah had left her washing on the line, the white sheets already speckled from the tainted rain. Good. Let them get dirty. Let them all get dirty.

She tensed as the black, iron-striped doors of the Colliers Arms loomed before her. All she had to do was keep walking. He might be in the yard, toting barrels with his father or haring around the coalbanks with his idiot friends, taunting labourers until the overman pelted them with clinkers. Of course he wouldn't see her; it was not as though he actually _waited_ for her….

'Well, if it isn't little Tragedy.'

She cringed and tightened her grip on the basket.

'Good morning, Ty.' She mumbled, turning to the slender youth stepping from the tavern porch.

The boy's hair clasped his skull like a black, glossy cap. Despite the soaking, his narrow face was twisted in a smile. 'All alone, Ma-lo-ri?'

She had seen girls preen and simper for Ty, especially when he spoke their names in that stupid, sing-song way. Even Rynn, milk-mild and skinny as a spinster, giggled at his smile.

'Had any of your turns today?' A snicker. 'Voices? Mysterious caped figures?'

She hugged the basket to her chest and chanced a look around. Ty's cronies were nowhere to be seen but the boy never seemed to need much encouragement when it came to nettling her. Cillah was watching them as she clawed spotted sheets from her line, pegs clamped between white lips and eyes like smallcoal.

'If this is one of your tricks,' she managed in a quavering voice.

Ty stepped closer. 'I just thought I should warn you.'

'About what?'

Being thrust rump-first into a puddle was not the answer she had expected. She gaped at Ty as water soaked through her skirts and squeaked again when something spattered where she had stood only moments before.

Ty leapt from the bloody splash with a grimace. 'About that.'

'Light, Ty, what did you push her for?'

Eyes brimming, she looked to the tavern's uppermost window. The 'sill framed a large bowl, still drooling crimson ropes in slow descent, and two, peering faces; Cael's was grim as usual while Lyris's, bone pale save for two red splotches, appeared utterly bemused.

'Now look what you've done.' Ty raked a hand through his hair and glowered before stalking away.

Cillah crowed with laughter as Malori struggled to her feet. Water seeped through her woollen stockings but she was too busy trying not to retch at the coppery stink to pay it any mind.

Cael and Lyris careened from the inn door to chase down their friend, cuffing him and throwing dark glares over their shoulders, as if the failed prank were somehow her fault. Ty fended them off with smiles and his quick tongue, all trace of a scowl forgotten.

A few heads had popped from doorways to see what the fuss was about. Not one called to her. Not one asked if she was all right.

Hoping her tears would pass as rain, she scrabbled at the spill of apples and tossed them in the basket,

She didn't bother to scrape the wet hair from her face as she trudged on, didn't look up until she glimpsed a red blur hurtling towards her. Arms flung about her waist, hard enough to make her gasp.

'What did they do?' a muffled voice demanded.

'Nothing, little one.' Malori smoothed the child's hair. It was soft and crimson bright, still spry with curls in spite of the rain.

'But you're all wet.'

'It's raining.'

'But—'

'It doesn't matter.' Her smile felt frail as she knelt to gather the girl close. 'Where are you going today?'

'To market.' Menna gave her a pleading look. 'Walk with us.'

Cillah had strutted from her scrap of a garden, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

'Not today, dearest.' She tore her gaze from the woman and reached for the basket. 'I've already been. See?'

The child's pout faded as she moved to snatch the apple, then her chubby hand faltered.

'Take it,' she urged. 'I have plenty. Menna?'

Menna refused to lift her gaze from her shuffling feet. 'Cillah says I'm not allowed to.'

The rounded woman took a warning step closer.

'That's all right.' She dropped the apple into the basket. 'Maybe we'll pick some together one day.'

'With Tris?'

'With Tris,' she assured, feeling as hollow as the promise. 'Hurry along now, dear heart.'

The child's hug was fierce as her sudden whisper; 'I believe you.'

Malori almost sobbed as the child spun and hurried to her keeper, soft boots slapping the stones.

'Mai.'

The voice was low and soft but she didn't turn to the speaker. Instead she watched Cillah scoop her sister from the ground. For a moment, the woman's face seemed to change, flicker into shadow even as arms clutched Menna in midnight folds. Then there was just a tired Goodwife and a lonely child, pale faces growing smaller and smaller until the drizzle veiled them to grey.

'You don't have to do this.'

Sighing, she turned.

He was tall, taller than she, but not hulking like Cael or gangly like Ty. Older too, though a boyish glint still lingered in those dark eyes.

All she would have to do was rise on her toes, just a little, tilt her head and their lips would meet. New heat flooded her cheeks. She had never thought that way about a man before.

'Do I know you?'

She felt that she did, but felt just as keenly that he didn't belong here, here where the houses crammed cheek by jowl and dust and smog choked the sky.

Water dripped from his hair, spiked his lashes, but still he smelled of sunshine and warm grass and apples, not bitter little knots like the ones in her basket but summer apples, the kind where juice plumped the sweet, red flesh.

A hot, sudden pain speared her belly. The rain spat, stuttered, stopped. No blood on the cobbles, no faces in windows. No Ty, no Menna. Only him.

'You left me alone.'

Mat traced a finger down her wet cheek. 'Don't.'

'Promise you will come back.'

'You need to leave now.'

She gripped his wrist. 'Promise.'

Rain began to fall again in cold, slicing drops. Her eyes slid closed as he leaned close, his breath warm on her lips.

'Don't fight them, Mai.'

Chill droplets pricked her flesh as she waited for the kiss. It never came. Frowning, Mai opened her eyes.

'That's better.' A gray-haired man was smiling above her. It was a kindly smile. It crinkled the corners of his blue eyes. 'You were having a bad dream.'

She moaned as wizened fingers picked wet hair from her cheek. That wasn't right. It hadn't been a bad dream at all. And yet here she was, lying in the dark with a head like a sore tooth, as though jolted from a deep, dark sleep. Jerking from his touch made the room twirl a lazy spin and she closed her eyes as her stomach followed the dance. When she opened them, the world was still again.

For now, the world was black walls and a low ceiling, the dank smell of old wood and older ale. 'Where….?'

'You are in Laybridge, Malori.'

_My name is Mai._ The thought was pale and whispery and somehow wrong. 'Home?'

The man smiled….

_Thrayne.__ His name is Henrich Thryane._

….and shook his head.

'No, child. This is not your home.'

Her arms ached. She tried to lift them but nothing happened. 'I've been sick, haven't I?'

'For a very long time.'

It was an effort to blink. The tiny room blurred like cheap glass. Light dripped from the narrow torches, licking kegs and stone with sinuous shadows.

'I wanted to make sure you were well.'

She tried a grateful smile as he patted her shoulder.

'I have to leave for a while. Don't look so alarmed; Child Merle will tend to you.'

A slender man detached himself from the shadows. His face was lined and weary looking. Deep furrows bracketed his mouth.

'Stay.'

'No need to fret.' The man she knew as Thrayne smiled that kindly smile again. 'I'll be seeing you soon.'

He gave her a final pat and turned, armour a dull silver and spurs chiming as he climbed the steps leading to a small hatch. Sunlight sliced the murk as it opened wide. It was rowdy beyond that snatch of light; cheers and laughter jolted the silence. Nightmarish, hysterical sounds.

Outside, a young man bowed to the Commander, a man with yellow hair. His eyes sought her before the hatch severed that blue glare.

'Cal.'

'That's Child Delloraine to you.' Merle peeled a grin. 'You're lucky he's not down here. The man has talent.'

'_Cal_.'

Merle's blow smacked her head against the wooden pallet. When the white flecks faded, she saw he wasn't grinning any more. He eased a glove over his hand and curled a fist. Rows of studs winked in the supple leather.

'I am not a cruel man, Malori. Light knows I should be, but you are not yourself.'

As he turned, a shimmer of cloak made starlight of her tears; white, dazzling.

'My orders aren't to damage you, just to get a confession. But be mindful,' the man turned his lidded eyes upon her. 'I will do what it takes to get that confession.'

'I want to see Cal.' Her voice sounded very far away, very small.

'By the Order of the Light, do you confess?'

She struggled but something cold bit her wrists.

'Do you confess?' he demanded, gloved hand reaching for his belt.

She fell back on the pallet. 'Cal, please….'

He plucked a cloth from beneath his belt, sighed, then lifted a quill with his free hand. Through her laboured breath, she heard the nib clip an inkwell then scratch over parchment.

Another sigh as the man lowered the quill and stepped to the pallet.

Merle clamped her head and prised her jaws wide. His fingers were cold and slick as he crammed the rag to rasp against her lips, her tongue.

It scraped her throat, shrank her breath to a whistle, stank of rot and decay. She retched when Merle released her, wept as he lifted a bowl deep and full with something that slopped and sloshed….

…._blood, o light it's blood_….

….and slowly, oh so slowly, began to pour.

Useless as it was, she tried to scream when the stuff bled into the cloth. Merle's hand was steady as he quenched the rag. Lukewarm wet began its creep to her stomach.

She coughed until the stuff felt like glass in her gullet, arched her back and bucked as metal sliced her wrists and something hot and sticky trickled onto her palms.

Her cries were weak, bubbling and thick with panic, but inside she screamed, screamed as she felt crimson liquid froth, inhaled the viscous, copper-reek of old blood.

'They always deny the first chance to confess, Malori. I like telling them that. It makes them feel less alone.'

Her throat whistled but still she dragged for air. Fluid bloated her stomach, arced her spine like a stricken bow. A hot, burning tide scorched her gullet, rising until the world was shot with black. Choking.

Drowning.

Darkness swallowed her whole, shadows tumbling through midnight….then the clotted wad was ripped from her mouth.

She sucked a whooping breath, lost it as a warm rush spewed from her lips.

'Second chance, Malori.'

'Mai,' she gasped. 'Please.'

'Will you confess?'

She coughed then vomited, dreaded finally seeing the blood glut from her. But it was just a splash of water on the pallet beneath her cheek, pale and thin as tears. She croaked a breath and fought a crazy urge to laugh.

The lines around the man's mouth deepened as he dropped the soaked cloth. In the quiet, unbroken save for her weak sobs, she heard a whisper of steel.

'Let me go,' she gasped, pouring all of her strength into the plea. 'I swear, I've done nothing.'

It looked like a needle, a needle long and licked with rust, rammed into a wooden grip.

'Please.'

'Will you confess?'

She wept as he picked up the quill again, scritched a note, sighed.

'If you're a screamer, now's the time to take a breath, girl.'

As the spike edged closer, close enough to taste sweat on her thigh, she thought of Cal; he of smiles and soft betrayal, hair like sunlight between her fingers. She thought of Mat, of whispers in darkness and silver rain and the slow, tender burn of his deceit.

When the steel pierced her, she was too numb to cry.

* * *

'Move.' 

'No need to be lairy, lad. Just having a bit 'o—' The man's piggish eyes popped wide as a blade jerked under his chins.

'I said, _move_.'

Mat ploughed on when the gibbering man swung from his path. He sheathed the knife in a swift movement and pressed through the crowd, head low, mouth set in a grim line. His head was still muzzy but at least the sickly twinges were bearable. Only moments ago the pain had seized him like a vicious claw, flurrying his thoughts like a pack of spilled cards.

He was sickening with something, had to be. When he got back to camp, he would ask Mai if….his head sparked another jolt of pain and he stopped quicker than if his feet had tramped into a puddle of tar.

Mat squeezed his eyes against the sunlight and dragged for air. Tugging at his scarf – the thing was suddenly choking - he took another breath and risked a peek; nothing to see but slicing sunlight, a trio of spindle-shanked cats and a choked gangway to the square.

He wasn't planning a jaunt there. The place was likely crawling with Whitecloaks if they weren't in the streets, and he hadn't seen one of the fools all morning.

Thankful at least for this small mercy, Mat stumbled towards an alleyway. His brow felt cool under his palm. He was tired, that was all. Tired and hungry. He just needed to….

'Find the lady?'

Mat almost yelped as he found himself nose to nose with a small, wiry man. The fellow's eyes were round and sharp as shaved marks.

'What did you say?'

'Find the lady, win a prize. Scarlet in the Black?' The man held up his palms. 'Just a game, my lord.'

It took Mat a moment to realise why the man was tripping on tiptoes. The fool's bootheels met the cobbles with a smart click as Mat released his collar.

'Sorry.'

The man slapped at his rumpled shirt. 'Money makes better amends, my lord,' he declared, strutting to a gaudy stall.

Scarlet in the Black. Mat had heard of it, somewhere. Somewhen. Find the 'lady', the crimson Ruler of Winds, amongst the male arcana; a game for lords and fools. He glimpsed a crescent of cards on the silk table, neat and lacquered to a gloss.

He flipped the man a coin as he backed away and was already half-drowned in the swell of drums and bitterns when he heard the man's reedy condolence.

'Better luck next time, my lord.'

Mat whipped around. When was the last time fortune had failed him?

He didn't know how long he stood amid the streaming crowds, swaying with the urge to hurry to the stall, demand the racketeer admit the swindle, that the winning card was his, that he couldn't be out of luck.

Then something was plucking at his sleeve.

'Mister, mister, please pay the stall.'

He looked down, eyes barely focusing on the scrawny child.

'The sign,' the boy urged, tugging fit to tear his button-cuff. 'It says there'll be no more shows 'less someone coughs up.'

The waif gestured wildly at a booth; tall and narrow, it stood alone from the rest, a canvas fortress save for a small window in front.

Dazedly, Mat dug free a handful of copper. The child barked its thanks and ran to toss the marks into the red and white striped booth.

Before the coins had rattled to a stop, a painted sign popped into the window;

_**Wrynecke Theatre presents the Climax of our Cautionary Tale;**_

_**Phase the Third:**_

**Tragedy**

The sign swept from sight as a marionette appeared. Crude and misshapen, its cloak and sword clearly marked it a wooden parody of a Whitecloak.

Mat's head took up that maddening ache as the puppet bobbed against the painted backdrop and promptly fell on its outsized nose, much to the delight of the gathering crowd.

Another puppet hobbled into view. Clad in a crude white dress and with hair a plait of brown twine, the female mannequin drew hisses then applause as the Whitecloak enticed the girl towards a tiny gallows.

And he thought Aiel had a strange sense of humour.

He must have muttered that aloud for a portly merchant turned him a sour look. Mat bared his teeth in a grin and the fellow _tsk_ed and waddled on.

The festival was like a fever running through the town and the scrum grew all the more frenzied the closer he pushed to the square. A swift glimpse showed bodies jostling on the cobbles and the spark of sunlight on armour. If the massed revelers were keeping the Whitecloaks busy, Mat was grateful for whatever it was they were celebrating.

In the sea of ragged banners, he finally saw what he had been looking for. Head singing with pain, Mat bolted through a gap and almost crashed into the door. 'Arli,' he yelled, wincing as he pounded on the crumbling wood.

A thin wail floated from within.

'Arli, I know you're there. Open up.'

The door cricked open a notch. 'What do you want?'

'I need to see the records.'

'No.'

'Arli—'

'I said no,' she seethed, scorn bright in her eyes. 'Go away.'

Cursing, he shunted the door, brushed aside her flurry of blows and stomped through the kitchen.

'They're gone.' Her screech chased him down the cellar stairs, shrill and gleeful with spite. 'You think I'd roast my own flesh so you can poke through _their _secrets?'

She was right. Even in the palest light, he could see the scrolls had vanished from the damp corner.

'Where are they?' He spat a curse as he pelted up the stairs. 'Where the bloody Light are they?'

'Hullo, Mat.'

A shadow hulked in the doorway. Mat flicked a glance at the cudgel at the figure's side and stroked a blade into his palm.

'No need for that, boy. It's just a friendly chat I'm after.'

'I don't have time.'

'Then I'll make some for you. It'll be worth it, I promise that. Arli, set the kettle on.'

Selwyn Wern stepped into the room, dropped the cudgel on the table with an impressive thud and eased into a chair. 'I understand you and my daughter are….familiar. Don't look so queasy. I'm not going to foist her on you. No man should be saddled with a bastard brat.'

'She had a husband.' Mat ground out.

'Husband? My daughter couldn't catch a drowning man with a river-punt.'

Mat almost felt pity at Arli's fierce blush. Almost.

'My Arli's very keen on male company,' Wern mused, his smile sly. 'I'll wager nothing pleases her like a well-spun yarn and a warm bed.'

'Glad I could oblige. Where are the records?'

'All safe.' Wern managed to pat his belt, despite it being almost smothered by his paunch. 'And I'm willing to let you in on some little secrets.'

'I don't need any more bloody secrets.'

'Not even one about that milk-skinned slattern you're scurrying 'round for?'

Mat allowed himself a grin. So the sly fool thought he could call his bluff, did he? 'You know nothing about Mai.'

'If you believe that, my lad, feel free to leave.'

He had already reached the door when Wern warned softly, 'But you've nothing to gain in walking out of here, Mat.'

Mat snorted, jerked the door open and planted a foot on the step.

'And neither does the girl.'

The words snagged him to the spot. Sunlight dazzled him and he realised his head was clear, the pain gone. He turned, saw Wern's expectant smile and Arli's glower, as though daring him to step over her threshold one more time. The small clock on the mantle gave him some hours 'til midday. Maybe the man wasn't bluffing. If Wern knew something about Mai and he didn't take the chance….Mat sighed and leaned against the doorframe. 'If I listen, you'll give me those papers?'

'I'll do better than that.' Wern stretched a reassuring smile, the sort of smile a weasel might give a cornered mouse. 'Now sit and keep that fool mouth still for a while.'

Feeling like he had just been swindled a second time that morning, Mat closed the door, found himself too weary for any swagger, and lowered himself into a chair.

'Arli, set the locks.' Wern leaned close, face suddenly earnest. 'Ready for the truth, lad?'

The deadbolt rang loud in the silence.

* * *

This time, she didn't run. Light pierced her eyes, thorns grazed her skin, smoke, heavy and thick, choked her. But she didn't run. 

This time, she knew what awaited her.

Each step took her closer to the village, closer to the homes crumpled by some unseen hand.

Closer to the creature behind her nightmares.

'You don't have to do this.'

He was matching her pace though she knew he would rather lag behind.

A glance revealed he was wearing his hat and a snug green coat frothed with lace; much too grand for these bristling woods.

Confused, she jerked her gaze from him. When her eyes strayed last, he had been wearing simpler clothes. Farmboy's clothes, almost. She didn't understand it. She didn't have time; already she could hear the scream, that thin howl of despair.

'You don't have to do this,' he repeated.

She stopped, turned to him. His throat was bare of scarf and scar, now. His hair shorter, eyes wider.

'But you know I must.'

Her spine prickled as he pulled her close.

'Don't.'

She let herself lean against him for a moment, fingers splayed on his chest. His shirt felt rough, homespun to the touch. But there was no warmth beneath, no telltale beat under her palm.

He sighed when she turned from him and pressed further into the forest.

Slate roofs glinted through the trees and she smiled as he fell in step beside her, onward to the place she once called home.

* * *

'Farwell.' 

Mat shrugged. 'I know all about Farwell.'

'Aye, what they _want_ you to know. A cloak of lies and fancies.' Wern leaned back, arms folded over his barrel chest. 'Time was, only the Whitecloaks knew the truth about Farwell, other than Nath. Poor wretch.' He paused, face grave. ''Course, we wondered why Whitecloaks were always sniffing around here. But none of us could guess the real reason. None of us expected what they finally told us.'

'The Whitecloaks moved in, everyone got greedy, the coalbanks fell. What's there to know?'

Wern gave him a searching look. 'I suppose old Pryderch told you that?' He nodded at Mat's silence. 'That goat don't believe in anything he can't taste nor touch. Never had reason to, I suppose. More fool him.'

Mat shifted in his seat. The sunlight slanting across the boards told him he'd been here too long already. 'So, do we get to talk about Mai now?'

'Rein your horses, lad. Where was I? Ah, Farwell; I went there only twice. The first time, I thought it a drab place, dour enough to make your teeth ache. Thought it was just misery that curdled those folks lives. But it was more than that.'

Arli finished nursing her child and swayed to settle on the pitted rug, her face serene as a Wise Woman and eyes just as hard. He could feel them upon him; cold, measuring.

'The second time was after the mountain fell,' Wern went on in a low, flat voice. 'Helped to dig for trapped folk, ripped at the black filth 'til my nails bled. And do you know what we found? Nothing, not even the dead.'

The man dropped his gaze, eyes clouded with memories.

'I'm sorry, truly I am. But what does that have to with Mai?'

Wern sighed and reached for his belt. From a leather pouch he took a sheaf of pages and spent a goodly amount of time riffling through them, nodding and grunting as he went.

Mat wrestled the urge to snatch the wad from Wern's fingers. When Arli added her huffs and fidgets, Mat gripped the chair to avoid strangling the pair of them both.

'Ah,' Wern finally announced, thrusting a moldy page at Mat. 'You'll have to forgive the rambling. They have a tendency to blather.'

He almost wrenched the page from Wern. It looked to be part of a letter, elegantly scribed in black ink;

_….surprisingly rich in ore.__ You are of course aware of the fecundity of this province. _

_Inevitably, trouble abounds and each new tryst stems from the same vilification. I can find no harm in this girl, yet many of the villagers, and the Hand themselves, find her unsettling. Regrettably, the more reliable inhabitants are taciturn about the source of the fracas, and so the rumours flourish. There are several other candidates for their suspicion, all female, of course, and one of them a child although her charges are typically insipid (previously apprehended for malification of milk and fowl, I am told). They shall be questioned accordingly and under my supervision. _

_That there should be call for this supervision dismays me. Captain Vyne is indeed dedicated to his somewhat self-appointed cause and I am afraid the troupe has felt the burden of this. The past winter has seen two desertions; Child Terrat is now stationed in Amadicia and the other, Fiarbren's youngest boy, remains at large. The lieutenant is understandably upset._

_With a lighter heart, I can report that the material they are plucking from the mines is truly remarkable. These 'black diamonds', as the locals know them (a quaint comparison and not to be discouraged considering the association), burn tremendously well. I truly believe…._

If he wasn't feeling so tetchy, Mat would have yawned. 'Why are you showing me this?'

'It's necessary, my boy.' With a measuring look, Wern slid him a second sheet of parchment. 'This was another report from Farwell, written a month later.'

It was in red ink; an urgent colour, Mat thought;

_….can advise that yesterday yielded a haul of noticeable quantity. The detritus is, of course, a problem, but one which does not require urgent attention since the weather has been unseasonably dry._

Mat glared at Wern. 'Necessary?'

The man just waved his hand. 'Keep going.'

_Your suggestion was most astute and the investigation proceeded as planned, save for the prime suspect's failure to appear. The rumourmongers now persist in their fables and I feel we have no option but to deepen the inquiry. First trials are scheduled to commence at __noon__ tomorrow, cumulating with the D'Aubren 'stead, which should appease the baser villagers and qualify the innocent for good and all. _

_I must admit I find this trying. I hope you agree that our attentions should be fixed upon the matter at hand, not flagrant embellishments of trivial events. Indeed, I am not convinced of ill portent in this place, or that the creature at the nexus of this hysteria is solely to blame. The trials shall go ahead as planned however, and a report duly sent with my apologies for these intrusions at such a trying time._

'Enough.' Mat planted his fists on the table. 'Just tell me what happened.'

Another page whispered across the table;

_Ninth execution, six persons:_

_A stranger named __Col.__ A stranger. A woman, spinster. A village Elder. Lutz, a distinguished merchant. An old woman._

_Tenth execution, four persons;_

_A trader named Rutscher. The wife of elder Relis. A woman named Cillah Baunach. An old woman._

_Eleventh execution, three persons;_

_A little girl nine or ten years old.__ Her younger sister. A youth, Cael Mellus, aged seventeen. _

_Twelfth execution, seven persons;_

_A stranger.__ The Master Overman of Top Pit, a very learned man. Beckell, the innkeeper. The wife of the baker at Grist mill. An old woman. Tris D'Aubren, a farmer. A girl, six or seven years old, Menna._

_Thirteenth execution, two persons (five scheduled);_

_Goodwife Hanarra, a seamstress, and Master Polle, one of the wealthiest denizens, were executed publicly at dawn. At the same time was executed in the market place a guard who had let two prisoners escape. The boy, Ty Marten, aged sixteen and the elder D'Aubren girl will be tried upon apprehension._

'By the time that report was received in Amadacia, Farwell was dead. The trials turned into a massacre and Farwell was torn down. Torn,' Wern slapped the table as Mat made to protest. 'Brought down by foul means. The Whitecloaks know it, and now they've made sure the whole town knows it.'

'The land was unstable.' Mat began slowly. 'It collapsed—'

'Listen to me,' Wern snarled. 'Farwell was killed by more than muck or the Whitecloaks greed. Foulness, perversion, malison, whatever you want to call it; that is what destroyed Farwell. Something evil happens and it leaves a print, a scar. It draws….things, calls them.'

Mat remembered the ravens, the reeking prints, the Draghkar. He shoved the prickling unease aside. 'I don't believe you.'

* * *

Cold, the sudden cold of cloud on a spring morn. But it wasn't cloud that choked the skies. Mai gazed at the soot-swept stone, the ash drifting like grim feathers, the smoke wreathing cracked homes; it was impossible to tell what spawned that grey murk above Farwell. 

Mat lurked at her side, shuffling his feet in the sooty cobbles. He brightened when her gaze fell on him.

'Don't say it.'

Mat closed his mouth with an audible click.

…._you don't have to do this, you don't have to do this.…she_ could still hear his litany rolling in her head.

She wished he would talk to her, crack his jokes and jibes as he followed her through this cold, grey place. He had fallen behind now though she knew he was garbed as she had first seen him; plain breeches and shirt mussed as his dark hair. Even his bruised eye was intact.

His silence was as alien to her at these ruined streets. But at times she _did_ glimpse things that seemed familiar; a snug cottage, door expectantly ajar, or a stall stacked with wares, as though waiting for someone to happen by. These were somehow worse than the ruins; that they could look so ordinary yet so wrong.

Her steps echoed on a cellar door and she glanced at the building before her. The tavern, a large place with a husky, soot-covered man painted upon the sign and foreboding iron-ribbed doors, was almost familiar. 'There was a doll here,' she murmured.

He stopped behind her as she crouched at the spot. 'It had red hair and green eyes. A doll,' she repeated.

Mat said nothing.

She palmed the dust, saw the russet stain on grey cobbles, moaned and clenched her teeth as the scream shrieked louder. It roiled in waves, sometimes a distant storm, at others screeching like a gale at a window.

'I'm just stalling for time.' She stood, brushed off her skirts with quick pats. 'We should go now.'

Mat stared at her, unblinking. Even the gloom couldn't dim his eyes. She waited, waited for a 'you don't have to do this' or an emphatic 'don't'. But nothing came.

She knew where she had to go, how to find the door with a grin of splintered steel.

It reared before them. She felt suddenly very small in its shade. 'I'm frightened, you know. But that's all right. I think I'm supposed to be.'

Something warm closed about her hand. She looked down and saw her fingers twined with his. When she looked up again, he was smiling.

She rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder.

'Thank you.'

'Don't—'

'I mean it. I wanted to thank you and tell you I'm not angry with you any more and that I….' Her fingers slid free as she straightened. 'Not now, not here. I need to do this first.'

She stepped to the door, paused. 'Mat, you used to call me something. What did it mean?'

When she turned, he was gone.

Tears prickled as the stair creaked under her first step. She breathed, conscious of the way the air stuttered in and out of her lungs.

'One.'

'Two.' Another creak. A third.

Three.'

Her voice shook. The scream was a wail of utter sorrow, a tragic cry of despair.

'Four.'

Dust shimmered, made a spinning aura above the figure slumped on the uppermost step. 'You don't have to do this,' Mat muttered as she approached, his voice small and sullen.

There was a frailty about his bowed shoulders and, when he looked up, she saw shadows scored beneath his eyes. He looked young and sick and petulant. Even here, he made her smile.

'Please move.'

He stared at his boots a while longer before rising and standing aside.

She didn't look back when she reached the hallway. The door was cold under her palm, a gateway to shadows.

It creaked wide to reveal a black shape, thin and motionless. Footprints in the dust; real then, like her. And it wasn't screaming anymore.

_Hello._

The creature turned. Her heart thrummed at its gaze.

_Hello?_

Dread filled her. …._don't__ look at me_…. _I don't have to do this_…. But the words never came.

Not shadows on its face after all. A cloak, black and hooded so only its full, smiling lips showed.

It moved, swayed closer, shroud sweeping the dust save where a ragged tear marred the hem.

Breath failed as its pallid face slid closer until it was level with her own. With dim surprise, Mai saw her hands were steady as she reached for its hood.

* * *

'Something was unleashed and now the dark has Farwell. Hoardes it, feeds upon it because one creature poured its heart into destroying the place, ripped down that muck and rubble with the sole purpose to kill.' 

'What creature?' Mat asked finally, barely managing to mask irritation with calm.

A hopeless look scarred Wern's gaze as another sheet whispered across the table.

It lay face down before him, a simple fold of paper. Then why the sudden thrill of fear? He hesitated….

…._you don't have to do this_….__

….silenced his doubt and began to read.

_In light of recent developments, I do not believe it prudent to visit the former site of Farwell in the foreseeable future. You will henceforth concentrate your efforts on the neighbouring towns of Forgeside, Furnacerow and, if necessary, Laybridge. My belief is that the creature was unmade in the course of her iniquity. For the sake of the surviving Children, however, I approve your proposed course of action. I have enclosed the writ of sanction._

_Walk in the Light._

_My final word on this matter, Commander Thrayne; if she survives, run this witch to ground._

The last line was etched deep enough to scar the parchment. Mat grimaced as the script grew denser, the words almost foreign to his narrowed eyes. He forced himself not to clutch the paper and struggled on;

**_Whereas There is Complaint Exhibited to the _****_Honoured Court_****_ now holden at Amadacia._**

**_In Behalfe of their Commander against the Ward of one Tris D'Aubren on grounded Suspicion & whereas Recognizance is Entered, for prosecution –_**

****

**_You are, By the Hand of the Light, hereby ordered to Apprehend and bring before us one Malori D'Aubren of Farwell for Gross Malison Committed by them upon the souls of those belonging to Farwell whereby mortal hurt & damage has been done to s'd persons according to wytnessed Testimonials of surviving Acolytes Capt. Bry Slarn and Child Parasin Merle. On behalfe of the Lord Captain Commander for those living and for their fallen Comrades you are hereof not to faile at your peril._**

****

**_Walk in the Glory of the Light._****__**

**_995NE_**

'This isn't true.' Mat gripped the page, fought a crazy urge to laugh. 'It's lies. It isn't her—'

Wern clamped a hand to his arm. 'There,' he murmured. 'Is your Mai.'

* * *

The cloth was soft beneath her pale hands. With a sigh, the black hood drifted from the creatures face. It was still smiling, a small, pale smile that didn't touch its 

_...her...._

eyes.

Mai crumpled, sobbed as that chill blue gaze fixed her.

'No, it wasn't me. I didn't do this....'

_Oh, it's too late for that, Mai....too late by far...._

'I didn't hurt anyone...'

_I'm taking it back...._

'I want to....'

_Wake up._

Palms gripped her face, their touch almost crackling with heat. A whisper of breath, a soft kiss to her brow, something melting, dissolving….

'_No_.' Ripping free of her cloaked mirror, she backed away until her heels teetered on the ridge of steps, cried out when something jolted her from the fall.

'Don't do this.'

A frail hand was clutched about hers. She looked up, saw Mat, young and pale and fearful, saw her own face; a white, smiling mask above his shoulder.

Mat's hold weakened, fingers slipping. 'Don't, Mai.'

'My name is Malori.'

She slid from his grasp and plunged into oblivion.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

**(A/N - **Disgusting, isn't it? I've nothing to put here but an apology….and to say a teeny addendum awaits you. Come on – you didn't really think I'd keep it _that_ short, do you.)

**Disclaimer:** I wrote Knife of Dreams. That's why it took me so long to post this. It's true. Ask that man over there, the one in the white coat. (Man in White Coat: 'Liar!'). Fair enough. (Man in White Coat: 'And you're rubbish!'). Right, that's it….

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_Some problems aren't meant to be solved. The girl is one of them._

He should be laughing. It was ridiculous, a fool's joke. But the smile wouldn't come.

'Looks like you need some tea in your belly.'

He blinked and Wern's fat, frowning face snapped into focus. Mat cupped his hands around his full mug. It was cold. 'Yes.' Manners, Matrim. Always remember your manners. 'Please, that is.'

'Perhaps it's best you couch a while, hm?' said Wern gently, waving Arli in the direction of the hearth. 'Crowds won't clear 'til past noon.'

'Noon.' Mat echoed. It seemed there was something terribly important about that word.

'Don't worry. Neither me nor Arli are going to watch. Don't have the stomach for that sort of thing.'

Light, why couldn't he _think?_ Ride to camp, haul up, leave. He could pretend everything was all right. As long as he didn't look at her eyes.

'Surprised they got her,' Wern mused, rubbing his jaw. 'Right out from under a bloody army too. Ach, the Wheel metes justice as it sees fit.'

Mat twitched a smile. 'They're going to kill her.' He shot to his feet, making the cup spin to shatter on the floor. 'They're going to bloody kill her.'

'Light, boy, what do you expect them to do?' Wern snapped, sopping spilt tea with his sleeve. 'Wave her off to the White Tower?'

Mat clutched the table-edge. A town full of Whitecloaks, his Band five leagues West with no way of getting word and…._Light, they're going to kill her._

Wern squinted up at him. 'If I didn't know wiser I'd say you were hatching something. Hope you know better than to do anything stupid.'

'No. Nothing stupid.'

'Nothing heroic either.'

'I'm no bloody hero.' Two in his sleeves, two in his boots, a few planted around his coat and one sheathed at his nape. Not enough blades for half a dozen opponents. Not enough by far. He could use their weapons if….wait, Whitecloaks carried swords. He hated bloody swords.

'I don't much like that look in your eyes, boy. Not much at all.'

'You have to let me go.'

'I'll not spill my blood to write her pardon.'

'No bloodshed. Just let me go.'

Wern shared a look with Arli then nodded.

'Thank you, I….' Arli had put down the kettle and was walking to the door, carefully avoiding his gaze. 'Where is she going?'

'Move girl,' Wern snarled.

'Arli. Don't.'

She paused in the doorway, sunlight firing her hair to fierce copper. Tears glinted as she threw a long look over her shoulder. Then she was gone.

As though the door slamming were some kind of signal, Wern seized Mat by the arm. A vicious cudgel, ominously stained at its thickest end, swung in his other hand.

'Don't know how sorry I am to do this, lad. Now sit down.'

His fingers tingled, telling him they were ready to draw steel and would be bloody quick about it. Instead, Mat hooked a chair with his foot, dragged it, and sat. He threw an offensive 'happy now?' grin and folded arms across his chest. 'I'll kill her.'

'What?' Wern sputtered.

Mat was almost as astonished himself. 'Arli - as soon as she opens that door—' He mimed a cool underhand throw.

'You'd sooner slit your own throat.'

'Or yours,' he agreed. 'But I'd do it all the same.'

'Liar.'

Mat leaned forward in the chair. 'Try me.'

Snarling, Wern stepped closer then froze as Mat flicked a shirt-sleeve to show a wink of steel. 'You kill me, they kill you. Bad deal. Time to throw down your cards, friend.'

A flicker, a stutter of shadow beneath the door.

No hesitation now - Mat seized a knife. The blade threw back his pale, distorted face.

'She's my _daughter_—'

'Last chance.'

The handle creaked.

Wern's eyes darted between him and the door, tongue wetting his lip. 'There's no need for this.'

'There's every flaming need – burn you, back _down!_'

But it was too late for that now. His hand moved with terrible slowness, raised the knife to his cheek. It was going to happen. The blade's gleam pricked his pupils, rasped stubble on his cheek he had a sudden, confused thought -

_need_ _to shave_

- before the door burst wide with a confetti of splinters.

It was not Arli. It didn't matter. The knife sagged then slid from Mat's slack fingers, struck the floor with a dull chime.

A figure stepped through the doorway, spurs ringing with his slow advance. 'I warned you,' came a gentle and oh so familiar voice. 'You always were too trusting.'

The Whitecloak stopped before him, one hand tucked in his swordbelt, the other hefting a vicious sun-gold crossbow.

With a groan of plate steel, he crouched level with Mat's slack face.

'Hullo, General,' Cal said.

* * *

In a dark, cold cellar, Malori D'Aubren stopped falling. 

'Merle,' she croaked in a voice clotted with screams. 'Get your hands off me you son of a whore.'

'Welcome back, Malori.' Merle leaned close, the needle a deadly jut under her jaw. 'Confess your misdeeds,' he crooned. 'Confess. End it, child.'

Her smile is a slither in the dark.

'Wielder of the aberration.'

Her voice stronger now.

'Destroyer of Farwell.'

Mocking, almost.

'Murderer of ten bastards just like you.' The smile split wide. 'It should have been eleven.'

Merle thumbed sweat and blood from her cheek. 'Good girl'.

Then blackness reaches for her again. Malori falls….

….and awakens to memories like hornets after the long, sluggish dream of autumn. They rise, blur and buzz; a girl-child, hair like flying crimson. A wooden chest. The man with hands like slabs. A feather, a doll. Torn paper, her etched face split in two. Then the boy – and, oh, that one is clearest of all – his fine, lithe form black against the last sunset.

_my_ _name is malori_

Wrong, wrong. All wrong. You don't have to do this.

_but_ _i said i must_

Some problems aren't meant to be solved.

_i_ _am _

You are Ma-

_lor_

-i

Falling again, falling, falling….

….into a sigh of apple-blossom, a crooked grin, wine and lightening and dancing in the long, low hours of morning….

_No! I won't let her!_

Then fall.

'_Come with me.'_

_She spun. He was within reach, narrow chest heaving._

_A hand, calloused but fine, tremored then rose, as though to stroke her hair. Instead it seized her arm. She froze._

'_I don't want to hurt you.'_

'_Either way,' he panted. 'Down there or right here. Either way I get hurt.'_

'_Then run.'_

'_Not without you.'_

_She tore her gaze from his narrow, twisted face. Below them the village smoked and seethed. _

'_It's too late. Please, Malori.'_

_She snarled, lashed with her free hand. A ribbon of blood unwound across his cheek._

'_Please.'_

_She lashed again, but with the _other _this time._

_Ty_ _grunted and fell back, arms locked to his gut._

_A cry rode the wind. She was already heading towards it, towards her home._

_Ty_ _had staggered to his feet, nothing but a thin, boy-shape against a blood sky._

_He had not the breath to cry her name, or if he did it was swept away by the spark-swirled wind that lashed her hair. Her eyes slitted when she heard a final, plaintive scream. _

_Snarling, Malori called the_ other _and raised her hand_….

The village wavers, fades as she falls….

Malori blinked at the girl stepping into the dim cellar light.

'Hullo.' The girl's lips curl in an almost-smile. 'I seem to be lost.'

'_I'm_ awake now.' Why had she said that? A quick, terrible pain spiked her head like when she and Ty drank from the ice-skinned spring.

The girl did look lost, as though she had been on her way to a feastday. A pale dress clung to her tiny waist, curls the colour of hot cocoa glistened.

'Awake? Of course you are.' Silk whispered as the girl came closer. Perfume like sickly apple-blossom hung about her. 'But I'm lost. I—' The girl paused, face stricken. 'I have to get back. I have to….'

She cocked her head, paled. 'I'm sorry. For all of it. Burn you, back _down_….'

Skirts hiked, the girl fled. Her final sob was almost a word; 'Ma-' something. Perhaps the girl wanted her mother. Perhaps she

_i_

was

_is_

crazy

Pain bolts through her limbs. Somewhere is the idiot drip drip of water. Her wrists are bound and bloodied, her back sobs with agony, and she knows her descent has stilled at last. Above her swims a face like a grinning moon. The face of Henrich Thrayne.

Malori hawked and spat blood.

'Now now,' Thrayne chided, smearing the clot from his breastplate. 'You needed to confess, to purge that last seed of Dark.'

'I'll see you dead.'

Shock cooled the man's smile. When he spoke, his voice was too soft. 'There has been much discussion on you, a whole study in fact. Our….investigations suggested you would no longer be afflicted with the abomination.' Now Thrayne's beam was radiant as his armour. 'The Creator is great in His mercy. You have been blessed.'

Hope, weak but eager, winnowed through the pain. 'Then you will let me go?'

'There are people, Malori.' His eyes were still fringed with incongruously black lashes, still handsome despite the creases at their corners. 'People who have come to see you.'

'_No_.'

Thrayne sighed as she thrashed. 'The Creator allowed you to forget. What of those who remember?'

Forget? Her moan was almost a laugh. She twisted her head, pressed a hot cheek to cold, wet wood.

'Those people, those poor souls, have lived without mercy. Don't you think that they deserve something? Don't they deserve the mercy of justice?'

She panted, reaping air that stank of rot and corruption with each fevered breath, remembered her hand in his, the sweat mingling on their palms. Him running, hair flung in the smoke-choked wind, legs working as he pulled her up the tor. The dread lurch as she wrenched her hand free. He knew what she had meant to do. He knew….

'There's a good girl. You were always a good girl, Malori.' A snarl of pain as someone freed her wrists. 'Be very brave now. It's time to go home.'

She shrieked - Merle had hiked her by the waist, hauled her after Thrayne.

She was as nothing in his arms, floating towards a notch of pure light that hitched closer and closer with every rise. They hauled her into a rage of red and yellow. Banners licking flame, screaming, baying, ears whining and the creak of armour hot in the air.

Thrayne reared, a creature of sapphire and silver and pale glinting teeth, the crowd a storm of howling triumph.

Spinning now to face the jeering mass. Faces spat and hissed, hands clawing so she shrank against her captor and found herself alone in that raging sea. Grey murked the nightmare and she prayed for darkness, saw only Thrayne smiling down at her with the sun a sickled orb about his head. His arms rose, wafted a calming gesture. The howls rippled into silence.

'Friends of the Light, behold your retribution.'

* * *

Mat had been soothing his knuckles when the crowd roared, crouched in the corner with nothing but a steady weep of water for company. 

He stood, head cocked as though in polite enquiry of the din. Then he launched a fresh assault on the door. The baying from above was deafening, pure bloodlust not even the pounding of his boots and fists could muffle.

Curses had given way to pleas, threats to promises. All he had left now was fury and his pointless, one-sided battle with the cellar door.

He paced, bloodied hands flexing and curling. Often he would give a violent shake of his head, his pace faltering. These wanings followed a single thought. Cal.

Cal. Blue-eyed Cal, who looked like goosefat wouldn't melt in that prissy mouth of his.

Liar.

Traitor.

Executioner.

Burn him.

Mat booted a scroll then slumped against the wall, crushing old parchment beneath him. The crowd loosed another round of jeers, but quieter - no, that wasn't right. _Fainter_. For some reason, that made the coiled barb in his chest unwind a little.

His only ally, a small, lumpen candle, bobbed then guttered. He was nearly in full dark now.

He toyed with a furl of parchment, brought it to his face. It was a map. Scribed amid a gentle roll of hill was a single word; Farwell.

Mat grasped the candle, heedless of the molten wax dribbling on his skin, and kissed paper to dying flame.

The parchment caught, flared, the bottom quickly crumbling into ash. Mat thought he might be smiling. He was, a feral grin tainted red by flame.

Somewhere above a door swung open. The candle crackled and drowned in its own tallow. The parchment see-sawed to the floor, its confetti of ash rising in the draught.

Mat didn't even yelp when gauntleted hands grasped him.

His eyes stuttered shut against the light as they yanked him up the screeching stairs. He felt a meaty thud at the end of his flailing fist before a kick slammed him to the boards, dust whirling with the impact. He grunted as they wrenched his arms behind his back. A flurry of footsteps and Arli dropped at his side, her fingers twisting into his hair as she lunged to press a kiss to his snarl.

''Ope it's a good 'un, filth.' Rough hands hauled him afoot, tearing Arli's mouth from his. The one-eyed man grinned as he pressed close enough for Mat to see the grime in his pores. 'Last one ye're ginta get.'

'Actually, I was saving my last for you.'

He grunted as the man dealt a blow that had him clutching his gut.

'Decorum, Merrick, decorum.'

Mat straightened, armed a drool of blood from his lip, and smiled at the speaker. 'My saviour.'

Cal didn't even blink. 'Make your peace, Dragonsworn.'

As one, the circle of Whitecloaks followed Cal's lead and bowed their heads. Arli gazed at him with beseeching eyes. Light, the fool woman couldn't even pray for him properly. Wern was staring at the floor, his drooping shoulders making him look tired, old.

Neither moved when they seized and hauled him from the small, darkened house and into the square. Mat squinted against splintering sunlight. He longed to keep his eyes closed, certain he would see a slender, lifeless shape swinging from a fall of rope. But open them he did. The empty noose was twitching in a playful breeze.

The grip on his arms tightened as his knees buckled.

'Where is she?'

Cal didn't answer the question. A pity, for Mat had several others; Where was the crowd? Why was it so quiet? And why in the name of bloody, flaming Ba'alzamon was he being led to the gallows?

He glared at the armoured men making a tight knot around him (and something about that made him smirk deep inside – whatever plan of his escape they had in mind, he'd be glad to hear it) but none spoke.

One or two looked a little stunned, true, and another kept twitching an awed smile in a way that had Mat wishing he could bloody up his fists a little more. One-Eye looked neither shocked nor amused. He looked as though he would gladly slit Mat's throat where he stood.

There was a definite air of ceremony about the way the fat, beardless Whitecloak plucked a scroll from his belt and unfurled it with his baby-plump fingers. Mat's gaze twitched to the half-dozen Whitecloaks, to the gallows, to Cal.

'You're not going to—?' He broke off in a wheeze. Oh, they were.

And Mat doubled up, breathless with mirth as they marched him, that little procession, across the empty square.

The wind keened, a mocking accompaniment to his laughter, stirred a tail of torn ribbon – it was blue, Mat noticed, and something about that was both sweet and terrible – rocked abandoned tankards and flurried dirt into spiralled eddies he had always known as dust-bullies .

And now he was going to die. Die in a strange place where dust-bullies had a different name and the people had the pale blue eyes of cracked steel.

_Better than Rhuidean_, he thought wildly, and that was something. Light, that had to be something.

A treacled apple lay at the bottom of the gallows steps, its white, exposed flesh spackled with ants. His boot sent it spinning at they hauled him upwards and shoved him towards the rope.

'Poor turnout,' he drawled as they stopped him above the trapdoor, or rat-catch, or Ba'alzamon's Eye, depending on which long-dead voice you heeded. A twitter in the far reaches of his mind advised it might not be wise to be so flip. He squashed that voice. It was either this or mindless, blithering panic.

The fat Whitecloak began reciting from his scroll. Mat ignored his sonorous drone.

'Where have you taken her?'

Not even sparing him a glance, Cal grasped the rope in both hands and yanked the noose wide.

'Because the others will find her whether you tell me or not.'

A lie, or at least as good as. Ferrell was probably snoozing against a tree stump somewhere, waiting for his return. At least he'd get a nice, long rest.

'Not in the mood for conversation?' he asked Cal lightly.

The noose rasped over his head with a smug hiss. It settled on the black scarf and tightened. Mat took a deep breath as something hot awakened to squirm in his gut.

Formalities accorded, the fat man furled his scroll and raised his jowled, expectant face. Mat grinned at him. The Wheel had turned and dealt him a low hand. No luck today, my boy. No win. No dice.

It was an effort to look Cal in the eye. But he had to. And not for his sake. 'You harm her—'

'By order of the Council of the Light—' Cal intoned.

'So much as a bruise—'

'I condemn you for crimes against the Creator—'

'I will see you dead. I swear it.'

'Children of the Light—'

'Burn you, Delaine.'

'I bring your retribution.'

Mat squeezed his eyes shut, dimly aware that his last sight would be his old worn boots before they danced the hangman's jig.

When it happened it happened fast. A click and then a snap on its heels, like a whip-crack.

Last chance for the impossible to occur, for Rand to leap through a gateway or Perrin to charge in, axe hewing, for Moiraine to step daintily from a doorway and channel them out of this flaming midden.

The rope buzzed like an angry hornet, the noose jerked then hugged his throat. Mat fell, a near-wordless cry torn from his lips.

That mortal cry ended in a yelp. Ear ringing, Mat lifted his head from whatever had smacked him senseless and from a giddy, side-skewed angle saw something white leap from the platform.

Mat heaved to his knees. His cheek throbbed from where it had smacked the gallows floor. Light, his whole head throbbed. That didn't stop him reaching for a knife or spoil his aim. The Whitecloak charging up the steps stumbled and sagged, the blade a cruel glister at his throat. He hit the deck as Mat scrabbled to the edge of the platform and saw Cal dispatching a goggle-eyed comrade with frightening ease.

Mat fell back on his rump, hands pressed to his head, the very picture of someone who had been whacked with an irresistible, irrefutable revelation. This was one improbable rescue he didn't see coming.

'When you're done grinning, maybe you could lend a hand.' Dripping sword aloft, Cal scowled up at him from a knot of advancing men. 'If you're not too busy, of course.'

Mat whicked a blade from his boot-top, aimed, threw. A heartbeat later it winked in the dirt. A Whitecloak glanced at his still thrumming breastplate and sneered. Knives and armour. Not a good combination.

'I hate bloody swords,' Mat muttered, afoot at last and gazing with disgust at the Whitecloak slumped over the steps – the man was gurgling crimson onto his white cloak, fingers twitching on his sword-hilt.

Grimacing, Mat yanked the thing from the dying man's hand. The hilt felt cold and clammy. His calluses were in all the wrong places. Some dim memory told him the thing was well-balanced as he hefted it. Little comfort. A sword is a sword. Mat would have given much for a farmboy weapon right then.

'_Carai_ _an Caldazar_,' he murmured, not knowing why. Then his fingers tightened on the sword-hilt and he understood. A sick feeling crawled in his belly.

Still - and the thought came with a pale, weak smile – it was high time they repaid him for hogging all those gaps in his head. He closed his eyes. They answered fast. A stabbing pain low in his side then a tide of midnight, falling….

…._kill them, all of them, kill them first, o aye, blood will flood these fields, these crops, they hunger_…. _o my love, my heart i'm so sorry i never meant_…._i'm_ _sorry_…._i_ _love_…._i_

Worse still than the visions, this voice of a dying man.

Mat clutched his hand to a wound that didn't exist, that cry pricking his brain like a forgotten stitch.

Slowly at first, he began the walk from the gallows. His throat ached, his legs shook, his eyes burned from the dust thrown up by the hot wind. He paid them no mind. Sword held at his side, Mat headed for the fray, wondering how in the Light a dead man was going to help him.

He found out when the first Whitecloak spied him. Young, obviously not relishing bloodshed, even that of Lightless filth, the man charged with sword held low.

A moment of panic then Mat spun to almost negligently flick the man's blade off course. Muscles used to lighter, quicker spear-play worked in perfect unison to jam the sword squarely into the man's chest. Two quick twists to bring quick death and Mat had freed the blade before the man could drag it down with him.

Still walking, Mat flicked blood from steel and offered a smile.

'Mordren Cale,' he drawled, weaving the sword in a form that was pure showmanship. 'Soldier, blade-bearer and youngest master of the cutlass, first honour.' The fat Whitecloak stepped back apace, jowls quivering, as the blade completed a vicious, jabbing form and wove seamlessly into the next. 'Last stand at the mouth of the Aringil, killed by a rat-faced half-breed while his wife lay birthing their child. He had much to fight for.' He paused, one brow cocked, sword flat and arrowed at his foes. 'Would you like to meet him?'

Naturally, they gaped like dapped fish. His mother always said his mouth would be his death or his saviour. Right now, the odds on either were flat even.

The fat one moved first. From the way he handled his sword, Mat half expected the others to yank him back. But they watched. They watched like hounds sending the litter-runt to greet a wolf. He hated them even more for it.

Edging forward, holding his sword like a hock of mutton, the fat man cried out when a wind-flurry slapped his cape into his sweating face. Someone – maybe himself - laughed. It was funny but it was bad-funny, the kind that huddled in laced wine and the whore's bed, in the feral, mirthless grin that sent men to shallow graves.

That made the big man advance hard, not looking nearly so soft or stupid now. A bad time for the fellow to splint his spine.

Mat had the blade under his chin so fast the man yipped.

Mat ignored him, turned his gaze on those watching the scene unfold like a feastday play. 'Leave and I won't kill him. Tell me where she is and I'll let all of you live.'

A snort from the one-eyed man. 'Boy, let 'im go an' we'll kill ya nice an' quick. Tha's th'best offah ye're ginta get. As fer yer cully…..well, she ginta get a very warm 'omecoming.'

Mat was so startled he let the blade-tip slip halfway to the fat man's paunch. 'What the flaming Light are you talking about?'

'Take the Creator's good in vain and I'll kill you myself,' spluttered the fat man, eyes livid, and Mat understood this one believed these fool's tenets, actually _believed_.

He pressed so the sword dented the fellow's chins. 'Hush, now,' he said softly before turning to the smirking man.

'I believe he would like you to enunciate,' Cal said, positioning the tip of his knife just above One-Eye's earlobe. 'My friend is very interested in these plans of yours.'

'Then you tell 'im.'

'You think I'm simple, Gethen? You think I don't know how you've been keeping secrets?'

'Traitor,' Gethen spat. 'Filthy, whore-begotten—'

That was as far as he got. Howling, the man fell to his knees, palm clapped to the place his ear should be.

Cal smiled as he bent over him. 'Shut up.'

Gethen shut up. Blood was gouting between his fingers now.

'It's amazing how many things can be flicked,' Cal demonstrated with a playful twitch of his blade. 'From a man's body.'

Gethen's eyes were fixed on a pinkish nub in the dirt. It looked like something found on a butcher's floor.

'Now be a good man and tell us.'

'T-tell you wha'?'

'Haven't you been listening? Perhaps I should try the other one—'

'Th' town.' Gethen shrieked, shrinking from Cal's blade. 'She's at th' town.'

'Farwell.' Cal looked up at him, startled. Mat closed his eyes. 'They've taken her home.'

That was when one of them charged, veins bulging in his neck.

Mat stepped back, touched blade to his lips in some long-dead salute, and opened the man's throat. He had time to see the man's spine, white teeth in some obscene, lipless grin, and then the rest were upon him.

Some part of him screamed, the same part that yammered and gabbled what the bloody flaming Light he thought he was doing, that he would slit his _own_ throat, that he was going to get his stupid, luckless hide _killed_. But some part belonging, for now at least, to a shade of a shade stepped and turned and parried and thrust in arcs and sweeps and jabs.

_Light! No wonder Rand_ _calls it dancing_….

And Mat Cauthon was gone again, in thrall of some long-dead soldier of Manetheren who had died with an apology on his lips.

He was laughing when the last one was beneath him, the one twisting and snarling and yelling a name over and over again, a name that stilled the blade long enough for the opponent to wrench it from his fingers.

But he had his hands, hands that could crush that maddening word right out this fool's throat. He pressed and squeezed and was finally dealt a blow so stunning he fell back, constellations spinning in his head….

_the_ _bull, the serpent, i see the fox_

….with thoughts that spun words like Emond's Field and Two Rivers and Dell's Common and….

_malori_

Except that wasn't right either.

_mai_

Ah, this one.

This one brought him back to a place where his blonde opponent was screaming. Screaming a very familiar word….

'Mat! _Mat_!'

Mat heaved the weight off his chest, rolled onto hands and knees.

Hands clutched to his throat, Cal sat slumped like one of Bode's cloth-dollies. 'What do you think you're doing?'

'Fighting?' he ventured.

'Them, Mat, them – not me!'

He followed Cal's finger to a sprawl of figures. More of Bode's cloth-dollies, these ones torn and bloodied, sightless eyes fixed on the burning sun.

Muttering, Cal staggered to his feet.

'What?'

'I said did you bring a horse?'

'Yes,' he murmured, vaguely remembering the ride to this hateful place, pressed to the creature's neck, heels pounding its flanks.

'Good - you'll need it. If they've got her at that town, the one she….'

'Destroyed?' He managed a smile at Cal's stunned look. 'How long?'

'Before the Draghkar, before the Tinkers. I can't remember a time I didn't know.' The blonde man faltered, then smiled. 'Knowing when it's time to toss the dice. That's what you say isn't it? That's what it's all about.'

Mat's stomach reeled. Would he have been able to meet those eyes? Smile at her? Dance with her? Lie under the same blankets? He had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer.

'I took her apple-picking, for Light's sake!' he blurted, trotting to keep up with Cal who was now heading from the square.

Cal eyed him askance. 'And your point is….?'

'I took her up a tree and you knew all along what she'd done.'

'What did you think she was going to do? Bludgeon you with fruit?'

'I almost broke my neck. I should have known it was her.'

Cal was looking at him, a small, almost sad smile on his lips.

'Tell me.' Mat ducked his head as they loped past Arli's den. 'Tell me I'm being stupid. Irrational. Childish.'

'You're being stupid, irrational and childish. Is your horse around back?'

'She didn't know, you know,' he blurted. 'What she did, I mean. She can't remember.'

'I thought you just said she pushed you out of a tree.'

Mat raked a hand through his hair. Light, he missed his hat. 'I fell.'

'Yes.' Cal was wearing that odd half-smile again. 'You did.'

Both men spun at the soft scuffling sound.

Arli, pale and fretful, glanced fearfully at them before settling her gaze on Mat. No sign of Wern. A pity – Mat would have welcomed a little chat with the man. Arli took a few steps from the shelter of her doorway. 'You forgot—'

Her voice cracked as she held out what was in her hand. Mat seized the hat, as though snatching a bone from a dog's jaws.

'Mat,' she called as he turned away. 'I'm sorry.'

He should be angry - very angry indeed. But found that he was not.

'Arli, get back inside now.'

'Mat?'

He turned once more, jaw set.

'Would you really have killed me?'

Mat stared at the girl as two fat tears slid down her cheeks, and smiled.

His last sight of Arli was her standing outside the dusty porch, mouth pinched with fury.

'Truly?' Cal murmured at his side, brow quirked as though he already knew the answer.

'Just a tot of her own medicine.' That brought the memory of Mai trying to pour some vile tincture down his throat amid protests that he hadn't a cough, that he was fine, that he had only swallowed a tuft of bloody silky-down. Mat clapped on his hat and quickened his step.

The showy white stallion whickered as they rounded the corner of Arli's den, a disdainful sound. Three or four other mounts dithered nearby, seeking comfort with their own. Instinctively Mat sized the prime beast; a sparse, roan gelding with a flat, resigned looking face.

Cal was already at the white hotblood's side, palms testing its sleek legs. 'How long to Farwell?'

Mat squinted at the sun. 'I make it before dusk.'

'With this fellow one of us will make it within the hour.' Cal's eyes were appreciative when he straightened. 'How did you get him?'

'Willing mare, prime racing horseflesh, unguarded stable - long story. I'll go,' he snapped when the man made to interrupt. 'I'm lighter.'

'And supposedly dead.'

'So?'

'So it's not much of a ruse if you go charging in covered in blood. They know me. They trust me. A slight advantage, wouldn't you say?'

Mat swore. For some reason, he wanted to argue. With good reason, he couldn't think of an alternative. 'Fine – I'll take that bludger,' The flat-faced dun looked up with mild reproach. 'Ride to camp when I could probably walk faster and rally the troops. And get rid of this bloody sword,' he added.

His friend – Mat supposed he could call him that again and the thought was a little warming – had already swung into the saddle.

'Delaine.'

Cal turned, blue eyes questioning.

'You saved my life – for that you have my thanks.' Mat made a salute that had died with the last soldiers of Manetheren, but something in his face made Cal's smile wither. 'Harm her, and I'll kill you.'

And despite the snug of friendship he felt for the man, Mat knew he would make good on that threat with no hesitation whatsoever.

Cal nodded then thumped the mount's flanks, his white cloak flying wide.

Mat turned to the dun beast, the sound of the hotblood's fading gallop rattling his nerves.

'Ho there, glue-pot.' He kept his voice low as he reached for the reigns but the beast yielded easily enough. 'Any trouble and you're on the road to the knackers.'

For know, though, the road to Farwell was trouble enough.

* * *

All right – so review responses are banned. But let's say I wrote these before the rule came into play. I think that's fair enough, don't you? 

For all I know the following may have weighed anchor and sailed from these fair shores. They may have fallen off the face of the earth. But I'm going to thank them anyway – that's the kind of splendid chap I am :P

**Trickster's Lulaby: **You officially begged me to update. I officially let you down. Please accept my humblest apologies and profuse thanks for the review. I'll try to be better, honest I will.

**Durvasha:** I got pretty dizzy too. And I understand if you've withdrawn the proffered thanks due to me failing to uphold the proviso. Other stories? Yes, there are others but I'm not telling. Too shy :)

**sphinx12:** I'm glad the secret's out, and hope it didn't disappoint you. Twisted? I'm the type who'll take that as a compliment - so thanks!

**CassSpaz:** Aw, look at your reviews – so small yet perfectly formed, like little stocking fillers. I'm glad you think Mat's in character, that Cal makes you smile, and my story oozes enough to keep you satisfied. Argh - mind control flees.

**VercisIsolde:** To you I owe the deepest apology. I am very, very sorry. Up until last October, you knew the story better than I knew it myself. Naturally, you've probably forgotten what the holy-hey happened in the previous chapters (I know I have), but here are some responses to your simply stupendous review.

_Farwell_ - Couldn't agree more - it's a dive. Menna is under Cillah's protection, so to speak. And who is Tris? Yes, he is the keeper of Mai - I mean, Malori. I've confused myself.

_Ty_ _& Co._ – A mirror of the Emonds Field trinity? – spot on. The poem, the loversknot, the drawing – all tied in with one of these boys. Did you mention one of them bears a resemblance to a certain charming rogue? You ain't wrong, kiddo.

_Bloody bowls of blood_ – The Farwell 'prank' (a big nod to Carrie) is so fresh in Mai's mind it convinces her that Merle's unique method of rehydration is also blood-based. I've always seen Mai as a symbol of something sinister; the leeches, the blood-letting, the nocturnal wakefulness, the black cape, her pallor, as though she is herself bloodless. She drains people both physically and spiritually. She is, in a word, vampiric. I guess that makes her obsessed with blood, then :)

_Find the Lady_ – I actually described the card game here except _someone_ told me it ruined _something_ called 'pacing' glares at beta. Mat originally found the female Ruler of Winds even though the game was clearly a scam no one could ever win. I guess the version in the actual chapter is better because it seems his luck has abandoned him. Oh well – we live and learn.

_The play_ – A bit o' baroque pre-execution burlesque. I though the W/C's would tolerate it because it's a crowd-rouser and could gain them support. Thrayne's the commander and he's cleverer than the average zealot. He knows how to handle a crowd. You're probably right, though – they'd be pretty cheesed off. Oh, and the puppet is Malori – nothing like a bit of Whitecloak propaganda.

_Arli, Wern and sprog_ – Yep, if in doubt, cry _taveren_. Wern's made an effort to get on the good side of the bad guys – he may not like the Whitecloaks but he knows which side his bread's buttered. His daughter is their record-keeper and Wern's been deigned worthy of a few of their secrets. That's about it really.

_Mat's morphs_ – I toyed around with this idea for a while then went with it. Your question is one I've been dreading - how can Mai possibly know of Mat's previous incarnations? I try to give fluff a wide berth, but here goes.

What happens when two people who are _never_ supposed to meet, who are fated _never_ to be together, are half-way to making a connection? It's a glitch that the pattern is trying to mend, to pick up those two dropped stitches and knit them back into their separate weaves.

Except Mat's a _ta'veren_ and Mai doesn't exist – she's the construct of a living dead girl. She's unraveling and she's taking Mat with her. It's all a little existential and, oh yes, pretentious, but that's the best way I can explain it; unnatural bonds, against all the odds, and to the n'th degree. There. My brain hurts now.

_The Records_ – I loved writing those! Lots of stupidly wrought and clumsy words to toy with – I was happier than a pig in a poke. It's _very_ much like what happened at Salem – I like to pillage :)

Cillah and Cael were both hanged by the Whitecloaks and Menna and Malori _are_ both 'children' of the man called Tris D'Aubren. Good work on figuring all that out. I get confuddled myself.

_Twisteroo_ – Couldn't make people wade though all this without giving them a twist now, could I? I'm glad it worked out all right for you. Unfortunately, when I said I had the last scene in my head the whole time that was the one. And it isn't the end yet.

Again, thanks for the encouragement. Now post something so I can return the favour, will ya?

**deathtraps:** The story _is_ confusing. It could be completely revised with the irrelevant parts (of which there are many) lopped off. But that would mean work, and work and I are scarcely on nodding terms. But thanks for the feedback - it's always appreciated.

**A Lurking Reviewer (aka The Zorpisuttle):** Hullo there! Nice to see you in this neck of the woods. The rowan-tree scene is my favourite in the whole fic. As for the flashback, I think the distressing side of Mat's memories are grossly underused (I've played on them in this chapter as well). And I don't think I've ever made anyone 'squee' before – I'm quite chuffed :)

Thanks to all the above, and also to those who took the time to have a peek (if the 'hit' counter is telling the truth, that is). Here's to getting my arse in gear and writing the next installment – cheers!


End file.
